And then the wedding
by planet p
Summary: AU; a wedding. Warnings listed inside. E/L, Broots/OC
1. Chapter 1

Parker found a parking bay in the busy, crowded parking lot and headed for the airport main, grey morning light falling all around her and a light cool breeze blowing. She could have used a cigarette, at that point, but she'd given up smoking years ago and in honesty had no desire to take it up again; it was an old craving, and she ignored it, as she always did. It wouldn't get her anywhere good, anyhow.

Navigating her way through the airport, she found the arrivals lounge and headed toward the one person she recognised. Even though they hadn't seen each other for ten years, she recognised his eyes. Everyone said they had matching eyes. She wasn't so convinced.

There was a woman sitting in the chair beside her brother's, listening to something on an mp3 player, an expensive pair of headphones plastered over her ears while wavy ginger hair cascaded about her shoulders. It was a moment before Parker realised she knew this woman also; she was Jarod's sister.

And she was wearing a plain silver wedding ring that matched her brother's.

Parker supposed she was the wife that had been mentioned, though she'd always imagined her to be of Asian descent. The fact that she wasn't her brother's usual type was little to no consolation; she was Jarod's sister, and now she was her sister too. At least on paper. Lyle had obviously married her because it played into his sick power games so well, Parker wasn't fooled into thinking that he could actually care about her, and Emily didn't seem to care about him either. If they hadn't been sitting next to one another, hadn't been wearing matching rings, Parker would have assumed they didn't know one another at all. Emily didn't seem to register her husband's presence one iota.

They had been married two years, if Parker recalled rightly. At one stage, ten years ago, her brother had tried to get the company to give their "little brother", Reagan, into her care, but when that had fallen through, the company had decided to transfer him elsewhere, where he would hopefully be less of a pain.

Parker hadn't been fussed. They'd been separated before, separated at birth, in fact, and ever since meeting again as adults they'd held something close to animosity for one another; they'd never been close. Parker hadn't even missed him, had hardly thought about him. She hadn't been barred from seeing Reagan, thank heavens, and as far as she'd been concerned, he wasn't really her brother. They were related by blood, but nothing more. Ethan was her brother; she had no other siblings.

She didn't rush over to hug him or ask how he'd been; didn't quiz him about marrying Jarod's sister. She walked over and waited for either of the two to recognise _her_, knowing that at some stage, one of them would eventually.

It was raining heavily outside now, and Parker assumed that's what held her brother's attention. He'd been living in Washington for a number of years and had probably been expecting a little more sunshine. Parker was surprised it hadn't rained before now, the weather report had forecast it. She supposed her garden would be happy, even if she wasn't.

He looked away from the large windows and the rain pouring down outside, saw Parker and turned to his wife, touching her knee. She looked around at him, took her headphones off. She looked around for Parker, her eyes eventually settling on the slim brunette and deciding she must be Parker. She switched her mp3 player off, returned it to her shoulder bag; stood up. She didn't look around at her husband as he also stood up, she was back to pretending he wasn't there.

"Hi, Parker."

Parker tossed her head, making no effort to pretend she was happy Lyle was back. "Car's that way. If we wait a while, get a coffee, the rain might ease up." She turned on her heel and walked away, in the direction of the shops.

* * *

As they were waiting in line at a little cafe, Emily turned to Lyle. "I'm hungry. I want something to eat."

"We'll get something. What would you like?"

Emily made a face. "I don't know."

"All right, tell me when you've decided."

"Your sister doesn't talk much."

"We're not close, Emily."

"You're twins."

"It's just a word. I hurt her. She has every reason not to talk to me. I won't press her."

"Why doesn't she talk to me?"

"Do you want her to?"

Emily frowned. "I don't know."

"If you think of something you want to talk to her about, go ahead and say it. It'll be all right. She's a good person; we just don't mix well."

"She thinks I'm strange," Emily said.

"You don't know that."

"We're not friendly. She thinks we should be more friendly; we're married."

"Emily, I'm sure she doesn't think that. If she does think either of us are strange, it's me. Not you. It doesn't bother me; she's entitled to her own thoughts, as all of us are."

"I don't want you to tell her why we're married. Make something up, if you have to."

Lyle sighed. "If she asks, I'll tell her we don't like to discuss it." He shook his head. "I won't say anything. If the past is anything to go on, she won't hold much stock in what I say besides. I'm a compulsive liar; you'd hardly expect any different, would you?"

"Don't say anything to her."

"I won't. You have my word, Emily. I won't say anything."

Emily looked away from him, unhappy. She didn't believe him either. She noticed the menu board and set her mind to what she might like to eat. She didn't feel like eating but she was hungry.

* * *

Of course, Parker did ask. Emily was sipping her coffee silently, glaring at something across the cafe, obviously waiting for Lyle to make up some nice lie. He said, "It's, ah, it's kind of a funny story, actually." He smiled. "We met about two years ago and we just... connected. Neither of us were thrilled, but we eventually realised we're happier together than alone."

"You don't look happy to me," Parker replied, her tone as cool and efficient as ever. Nothing got by her.

"We're very happy," Lyle said, just as if she hadn't called him a liar right to his face. He even smiled.

Parker glanced at Emily. "Are you very happy?" she asked.

Pulled from her thoughts, Emily glared at her. "Absolutely," she replied.

Parker laughed. Clearly, she didn't believe either of them. She knew they were lying, she just didn't know why.

"We're having a child," Emily said.

Parker frowned, glancing around at her brother for confirmation, and he nodded, smiling a little.

"We're hoping for a girl," Emily said. She reached for the sugar dispenser and tipped a couple of servings into her coffee, stirring her mug absently. She sipped her coffee, no more happy with it than she'd been before the addition of the sugar.

"What's your wife's name?" Parker asked Lyle.

"Emily."

Emily didn't so much as scowl. If she'd heard Parker's question and thought something off about it, she was saying nothing.

"You're hoping for a girl?"

"Yes, we are."

"And Emily doesn't think that's strange? That you'd want a girl and not a boy?"

"I'm happy either way. A child is a child. He or she will be just as precious whether they're a boy or a girl."

Parker rolled her eyes. "You never cared about children before. You didn't even like kids."

"That was before I met Emily."

Parker scowled. She didn't like that they'd started off this way, after ten years with no contact. It was a bad start, and she didn't see why he'd need to lie, in the first place. She knew he didn't care for Emily just as Emily didn't care for him, and she suspected their was no such baby. She knew she shouldn't have cared less whether he was honest with her or not, but she'd somehow, without knowing herself, been hoping for more. Even just for Reagan's sake, for his son's sake. But nothing had changed – not a thing. She couldn't believe it was making her this mad, but she was furious. Furious at both him and Emily.

Emily pushed her coffee away from her. "I can't drink this."

"Would you like something else? Ah, a fruit smoothie, perhaps? Coffee's probably not good for the baby anyway."

She glared at him dirtily. "I want something to eat!"

"They'll be along, darling."

"Will they?" she growled.

"Yes. Would you like something else to drink?"

Emily huffed angrily, scowling at him. "Just... get me something with strawberry in it!"

"I can do that."

She looked away, scowling. When he stood up, Parker stood up with him. Lyle cast a brief glance Emily's way, and said, quietly, "I'd appreciate if you could stay with her, Parker."

Parker snorted. "She's insane."

Her comment didn't win her any favours with Lyle. He merely frowned at her unhappily and said, "She loves me. I'm not going to say a bad word about her. She's not so ill that she can't care for other people, even our child, when he or she is born, so I don't see how her mental state should be of concern to you, Parker. If you can do one thing for me, though, I'd like if you could stay with her whilst I go to the counter for a moment. She doesn't like to be out in public, and she doesn't like being out with a lot of strangers."

Parker grabbed his arm, glanced shortly around at Emily, but she hadn't noticed anything. She pulled Lyle away from the table, in the direction of the service counter. "Why'd you marry her, Lyle? She's not bloody right, not to mention – she's Jarod's sister! This isn't going to improve matters between our families."

"I had no choice. I found her at one of our rivals' facilities. If I hadn't married her, the company would have laid claim to her and taken her away. I owe her this."

"She's insane!" Parker scowled.

"No, she's recovering. I can't begrudge her that, Parker."

Parker rolled her eyes. "You're not having a baby, are you?"

"No. We're not involved like that."

"Do you have someone on the side?"

"No. I'm trying to set a good example, to be someone she can trust, talk to, if she feels the need."

Parker laughed. "And you expect me to believe that, Lyle? I know you!"

"It never did me any good, Parker. Emily does. She might be mean, but she doesn't mean to be. One day, she'll... she'll get better. I can't ever make up for what I did to her and that family, but I can change. I can be a better person. I can..." He looked away from her, sighing heavily. "I'm never going to be Reagan's dad, but I can be a good person. I can be someone he doesn't hate out of principle. I can show him he can be more than just what some other people have decided he must be. They're just people. They don't own his soul."

"Are you insane?" Parker asked seriously.

"I was under the impression I'd been insane for a long, long time."

Parker laughed. "Why are you doing this, Lyle? Do you seriously expect me to believe you've turned over a new leaf?"

"I don't much care if you believe I'm trying to change or not. I don't need validation from you, and I don't need the company's blessing. I couldn't care what they think. They're not my friends. I work for them, nothing more."

Parker sighed. "I'm going to tell Jarod next time he calls, you realise that? He thought Emily was dead. I think it's only right he knows what happened."

"Tell him what you like, Parker. I'm not doing this for him. I'm doing it for me; for Emi and me. I... She's the only one I care about in all this. She's my angel."

Parker cracked up. "Took a leaf out of Raines's book, eh, little brother?" She laughed again, amused. She waited for him to give the young woman behind the counter his order, then scooted closer to speak quietly. "You got pictures, from the wedding?"

Lyle frowned, shrugged a shoulder.

"Can I see?"

He passed her his wallet. There was a picture of Emily in a white wedding dress. It looked expensive, a little plain with its simple strapless bodice and long swishy skirt, plain but pricey. Emily had tears in her eyes, unhappy tears.

"She looks like she's going to cry," Parker commented.

"She did cry. We had champagne. She felt a bit better afterward."

"You like champagne?"

"Hadn't had it before. It was okay."

"You never had it before?"

"I don't do well with alcohol. I get stupid. I just figured, people have alcohol at their wedding. That's what they do. It was nice."

"So how'd that go? Did Emily think it was as nice?"

"I don't know; I've never asked. Champagne's kinda heavy, you know?"

"No," Parker said, with wide, crazy eyes. What the hell kind of champagne had he got, anyway?

"I'm thinking-" A young woman behind the counter passed him Emily's fruit smoothie. "Thank you. I think it was for the best."

Parker stared at him intensely. "You were not passed out from champagne on your wedding night! That woman you call your wife – she drugged you!" She blew out a breath glumly. "This is so fucking embarrassing."

Lyle smiled. "At least you didn't have to listen to me singing love songs in the elevator."

Parker smacked her hands over her ears, her eyes wide. "La la la la la!"

"She didn't have hotel security drag me off. I might've made a complete fool of myself, but I think I have that to be thankful for, at least. It was a nice hotel." He laughed. "I guess the utterly appropriate elevator tunes were my own fault. We were married on Valentine's Day."

"How romantic!" Parker muttered.

They walked back to the table and Lyle passed Emily her smoothie. "Here you go, darling." She ignored him, busy eating her food.

"Why don't they just take her off you?" Parker asked later, as they were walking to the car under grey skies, Emily lagging behind.

"The company don't own me; I'm not their property. Aside from the terms of my employment with them, they don't get to say what happens with me. Emily is affiliated with the Centre _through_ me. In a way, she's not affiliated with them, she's affiliated with me and I'm affiliated with them. If I left the company, they could acquire her then, but until then, they don't touch her without my permission. That's how it works, if you're married.

"If Brigitte and I had been married, they wouldn't have been able to touch Reagan without breaking a dozen or more Triumvirate laws that could've potentially gotten them disavowed from the Triumvirate's protection. Unaffiliated. Providing we could prove it, of course.

"If Cooper hadn't left the company, if she'd stuck around to fight, given William time to prove they'd been the ones to take Kyle John, things might have been very different for all of us. But she didn't know anything about Triumvirate law, if she'd even known of the Triumvirate." He sighed.

Parker frowned. "What are you talking about, Lyle? Jarod's mother is Cooper? The geneticist who isolated Cooper's Anomaly?"

"She gave them so much, Parker. Don't you see? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what you give them, they just want more. They are not good people; they're not good. They're greedy and they're sick. They'd break the universe if it got them a few more dollars, a bit more power over the masses. They think they're so, so special. They can't be contented with mere human longings, they must have it all, and in the process, they completely miss the point. I don't want to be like them any more. Not any more. They disgust me."

He shook his head. "Please don't tell Jarod. Don't tell him his mom's Cooper. She never meant for her children to get hurt. She loves them."

Parker sighed, took out her key and unlocked the hire car's central locking. "I don't even know if I believe you," she said. She pretended not to notice how shiny his eyes were.

* * *

As she drove, Parker chastised herself silently for the easy manner in which she'd fallen back into conversation with the creep the company liked to call her brother. She didn't believe him but he could always do that to her, could always make her talk to him, listen to him, even when she was angry and snippy and had little words but hateful words. He'd always done that to her, and she hadn't missed it one bit, but now he was back for Broots's wedding. She really had no idea why Broots had invited him, but the fact remained that he had, and as she was the only one who'd known how to get in contact with him following his transfer, the task of inviting him had been relegated to her.

She bloody hoped he didn't ruin Broots's wedding; hoped Jarod didn't, either.

She left the hire car with them and said goodbye for the day at a hotel in town where she'd booked rooms for them and left her own car earlier that day. She had no desire to have them in her house. She would be back in the morning, early, she said.

She made a point to hug Emily before she left, and even managed a smile, congratulating her on the baby that was soon to be along. As she left, she saw Emily smile, and she felt happy, proud of herself. She'd been a little nervy that Emily wouldn't forgive her for her earlier scepticism, but all had been fine.

She wasn't just a bitch. She could make nice.

* * *

They walked around town for the rest of the day, trying to find something to give Broots as a gift for his wedding. Emily chewed her lip, nervously eyeing an expensive but quality cutlery set. Everybody needed cutlery, so it would be guaranteed not to be useless, and even if he didn't use it often, he'd use it sometime. He might even one day have kids to pass it on to.

Lyle told her about his daughter, Debbie, who was twenty-five, and she cheered up a little. They went to look at china tableware and glassware and Emily turned to him with a frown. "I don't know what to get," she said.

"You think we might try a coffee maker?"

Emily frowned. "What's his job again?"

"He's a tech. He works with computers. But he likes gadgets."

"Does he _drink_ coffee?"

"Yeah."

"How do you know he doesn't already have a coffee maker? I don't want to get something he has already."

"Would you like me to call Parker and ask her? She might know."

Emily glared at him. "If you call her, I'm taking that damn phone off you! You're not married to her, you're married to me! Do you think I don't see how chummy you two are together? I'm neither blind nor a fool!"

He smiled, touched her cheek for a moment. "I'm with you, darlin'."

She smacked his hand away from her face, glaring at him. "I'm bored, and I'm tired!" she muttered. "Fine, let's just get him a coffee maker thing and be done with it!"

"Hey. Emily." He caught her gaze, smiling. "I'm sure he'll love it."

She glared at him. "Don't call me _darlin'_. It makes me want to punch you out."

"All right, Emily. I won't call you that any more if you don't want."

"I don't!"

"Gotcha."

She gave him a dirty look. "And don't touch me!"

* * *

Emily sat on the sofa in their hotel room, listening to her mp3 player up loud. She knew why she had to stay with Lyle, she knew she couldn't leave or run away, but sometimes she really just hated being around him. He was always smiling at her stupidly and she just wanted to punch him. She knew she acted a bit dumb sometimes, she acted like she wasn't the full quid, but it made her feel better, made her feel safer, but Lyle was an idiot – like he didn't know that boys only smiled at girls like that if they liked them. And he was always smiling at her like that! Even if nobody else noticed – even if his own sister hadn't noticed – she did. She always noticed, and it irked her. She didn't like that she might have liked it, might have liked him.

It was lucky he'd had too much to drink on their wedding night, or she might have had to bash him out with a lamp or something. It hadn't come to that in the time since, but she always knew when he was around. She mostly just liked to be left alone.

She had no idea why she'd told Parker she was pregnant. She'd just been... upset, silly. She didn't want Parker to know she'd been taken, hurt, experimented on. She didn't want Parker telling her family, however accidentally. But now, she figured Lyle had spilled the beans. Parker always could wrap him right round her little finger, even if she didn't see it that way. He was easy prey for her, he was so in love with her.

She closed her eyes and listened to her music. She wasn't really interested in Broots's wedding; she'd only come because Lyle was going, and she didn't like to be left alone, didn't trust the company he worked for. They knew that he'd found her with one of their rivals, that she'd been of interest to them, had the Anomaly and all. It was only her good luck that they hadn't made a move on her sooner, or else there was some crazy law saying they couldn't, and in the meanwhile he'd been able to make the necessary arrangements. She'd been in hospital for a long time, and then in a care facility, undergoing rehabilitation. The Centre had paid for it all, of course. When she'd left, she'd heard that the company who'd taken her had been shut down by the Triumvirate, following a short trial. She didn't want to think that it had been because of her that Lyle had reported the company's infractions to the Triumvirate and urged that they follow through, but she couldn't help but think that it did come down to her, in the end. He felt he owed her this, for all the harm he'd done to her and her family. For torturing Jarod and killing Kyle, and nearly killing her. He was trying to make peace with his angels now, and he thought she might be interested in helping him do that.

She wasn't.

She did wonder what had happened to all those others, the ones the people who'd taken her had been keeping besides herself. She wondered if they'd just gone to some other company who'd realised they could take advantage of their rival's misfortune and use it to scoop up some neat subjects. When the organisation who'd taken her had been found in violation of Triumvirate law and sentenced, her affiliation with them had expired. She'd been free, unaffiliated; left wholly without protection. If Lyle hadn't been quick to have them married, the Centre might well have had her. She didn't like to think about that happening, but it kept her awake nights, wondering what had happened to all those others. Had the group who'd taken her been as bad as the Centre, or had they just been sloppy? For the sake of... redeeming himself with the universe, or whatever his game was, had Lyle sentenced all those other people to a living Hell?

Some days, she found it hard to look at him. She knew he'd saved her, but she still hated him. She wished he'd never found her, never taken her away from those awful, awful people. She hated that he was waiting for her to heal, to move past her bad experiences, when all those people she'd been trapped with might still be going through many more bad experiences. She'd never even wanted the Centre to pay for her medical costs, but she'd been too unwell to know what was going on at that time, and now she felt so fucking dirty, and no matter what she did, she couldn't wash herself clean.

She'd never thought about asking Lyle what had happened to those others; he was, as her brother had said, a compulsive liar. He lied the same as he breathed. She wouldn't even give him the satisfaction of knowing that she understood she could "have it worse", that he'd saved her, helped her, even though she hadn't asked for him to do so. She would probably die before she asked.

It was disgusting to her that she could feel something for the lunatic, that she couldn't help the creepy way she felt when he was around. She didn't want to like him like that – she certainly didn't like him as a person – she didn't want to dream about the way he said her name, or called her "darling", she didn't even want to feel the overwhelming urge to hurt him that sometimes overtook her and was so damn hard to fight, she was barely restraining herself. She was sure it meant something awful, for her and for him. She was sure it meant she liked him more than she wanted to, that she cared what he was like and maybe thought her actions might have a chance of impressing on him, even as awful it was to want to hurt another human being.

She didn't think of him like that. As a human being.

He was a monster. A monster that knew how to disguise himself and found some sick pleasure in fooling people, in playing nice. He was just a monster, like the rest of them, like the people who'd taken her, hurt her.

He was no different.

One day, she would run away. Leave him. She'd find her family, or... or find some way to hurt the Centre. To ruin them, the way they'd ruined her brothers, her family. And then, if she was still alive, she'd come back. She'd come back and she'd end the monster, Lyle. Her husband. She'd make sure he never breathed again.

She didn't know how she was going to go about ruining the Centre, she just knew she was protected from their grabby hands by being married to Lyle. If she could somehow get in with them, convince them she was better and wanted to help them, work for them, maybe she could find a way to hurt them. The thought hurt her deeply, that she would have to make nice with them, but she was well on her way to becoming a monster, to exorcising her demons once and for all, and a monster knew how to play nice, knew how to present an agreeable exterior, and only showed their true nature to their intended prey, at the moment of their demise. She'd learned that from Lyle. She wasn't going to muck up like he had, though.

She switched off the music, put her mp3 player and headphones away. She knew what she had to do now.

* * *

Sitting in the bathroom with a chilled bottle of wine she'd found in the fridge, she tried to get her courage up. She couldn't live like this any more. She couldn't feel like this all the time, like a monster akin to Centre. She just couldn't do it. It was slowly killing her. She wasn't going to heal this way. She needed to act, to do something.

She downed some more wine and made her mind up. She would do this.

She was aware that she was a little crazy, that her thoughts were a little insane, but she still felt that if she could fool one monster, she'd be well on her way to fooling the others. If she could be a better monster, she'd be ready to take on the other monsters, and it wouldn't hurt if she had some people to play, starting with Lyle. She didn't think he really cared for her, or even really liked her, it was just the challenge, it was just that she was Jarod's sister, that she'd never, ever fall for his charms because she'd seen him for the monster he was.

* * *

Emily been annoyed at first, to learn that Parker had booked them a single room, but it struck her now as very helpful. As she reached for the bedroom door, she could do nothing to still the shaking of her hands, but it felt right. She wasn't doing this because she wanted to, she was doing it because it was part of the plan, because it would help her in her mission for justice. It was right that she felt how wrong it was. She just hoped Lyle was too busy staring at the rest of her to notice her shaky hands.

She pushed the door open quietly and stepped into the room, dressed in nothing but a black lacy lingerie number, a cute little baby doll and matching panties. She thought it looked nice on her, sexy, and she hoped Lyle would think so too. If not, then she was in a lot of trouble.

She looked around the room, expecting to see Lyle, but the room was empty.

She pulled the door closed and headed for the living space. If he was out with some other girl, she was going to pound him for sure. He was still her husband.

She found him in the living area, wearing his stupid reading glasses she'd often thought about throwing in the trash and reading or watching something on his laptop computer. He was making notes on a piece of paper and the frown on his face was really strange, just as if it wasn't him at all, but only someone who looked like him.

Emily didn't like it. It made her nervous that he was in that zone, in his Pretender mode, in which case her advances, and her pretty outfit, would do little but fall on deaf ears.

She moved further into the room, plastering a frown to her own face, and said innocently, "What are you doing?"

He laughed, closed the lid on his laptop, snapped the file he'd been writing in closed. "It's just work, Emily. But that stuff doesn't matter right now, I can," he looked around and noticed what she was wearing, "come back to that later..." He took his reading glasses off and set them down on the coffee table, with his laptop. "If you're tired, you can go ahead and go to bed. I think I'll sleep on the couch tonight. I don't mind."

Emily couldn't think of anything clever to say, so she just said, "I'm not tired."

"Are you, ah, looking for something? You want me to help you... with your special clothes?" He winced. "Have you decided what you're going to wear tomorrow?"

"I know what I'm wearing for your friend's wedding," she said.

He nodded. "Yep. That's good. Excellent."

She stared at him, wondering why he seemed so uncomfortable. Was it just an act, or was he seriously uncomfortable? Maybe she wasn't supposed to make the first move, or maybe... maybe nobody was supposed to be making any moves? Maybe the whole point was that he could have her around and resist. She suddenly felt so much better about her plan, knowing that it would be messing with his, would force him to reveal his true nature and be done with his silly little games if only for one night.

"Emily, I... I have to go out. I'm sorry." He stood up quickly, still not looking at her. Looking everywhere else. He finally willed himself to meet her eyes. "I shouldn't be gone long. I don't want you to worry. You are perfectly safe here." He walked closer, thinking to step around her and make his exit, but she stepped into his path, in front of him.

"Don't leave me!" she pleaded, catching his eyes and clasping his arm in both of her hands.

"Emily, you will be fine on your own for a few minutes. I have faith in you."

She shook her head, her green eyes wide, desperate. "I'm scared," she said. "I don't want you to leave."

"I... I think you do."

She frowned up at him. "I don't know what you mean," she said innocently. She almost choked when she saw his cheeks colour. Oh God, who was this and what had he done to her husband?

He drew her near and placed a kiss on her head, just as he had at their wedding. She had a feeling he was having a hard time letting go of her and she couldn't help but smile, awkward as she felt standing there in just her lingerie. He stroked her hair softly and she felt a strange tingling in her chest. She had to remind herself to breathe.

She took his hand from her hair, put it down by his side, and stepped apart from him. She made a point to catch his eye. "I promised your sister a niece and I intend to follow through with my promise," she told him. "I want her to like me."

He frowned. "Have you been drinking, darling?"

"You know I don't drink. No, I haven't been drinking. Have you?"

"No, but now I'm thinking-" He laughed. "Shut up, Lyle!" He took a heavy breath. "Emily, my sister knows we were only making up a story. She knows we're not in love. You don't have to pretend around her."

"How does she know?" Emily burst out, her temper rising. "If she knows, it's because _you_ told her! Why would you do that? Why would you tell her something like that? We're married; I'm your wife! How can you say you don't love me? I-I don't understand!" Her eyes became sad and watery, her voice small. "Why did you marry me, if you don't love me?"

He rubbed her arms, thinking the gesture might console her some. "You know why I married you, Emily, and it had nothing to do with love. You... you remember that I tried to kill you, don't you? I hurt you."

An angry scowl crossed her face. "That was before. Things are different now. You love me. I'm your wife!"

He felt her head, frowning in concern.

"I'm not sick!" she yelled, her temper finally snapping. She just wanted this thing to be done and over already, and he was making it ten times harder than it needed to be. He was being a real big idiot. She felt like grabbing him and shaking him, slapping him and yelling, "I don't care if I'm not your type! You're my husband! Just do it already! It's your duty! And you can quit staring at me like I've grown feelers! There is nothing wrong with me!"

She swallowed her anger and sniffed morosely. "I want to make you happy," she said sadly, looking up into his eyes. "I hate that I'm always angry at you. I get so mean. I don't want to be mean tonight. We never had our special night."

He sighed, dropped his hands from her arms. "Emily, I'm sorry, but this is not something that I can do."

She stared at him, ready to cry. "Don't you like me?" She touched the hem of her baby doll. "I... I got this special for you. I thought you'd like it."

"I do like it," he told her, a look of pain in his eyes, hiding in his voice. "I like you, very much. I think you're wonderful. I don't think you're mean at all. I mean, I don't care if you're mean. These things happen, people get sad, they have bad moods. But I can't do this. It could never just be this once, not for me. I know that. I'm so very sorry, Emily. I'm sorry I can't be stronger for you. I'm sorry I can't make this okay for you. I... You have to believe I would, if I could." He looked away from her, tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I understand it must be uncomfortable for you, never quite knowing my intentions, or what I'm thinking of when we're together. I wish I could be better for you, and now I've gone and made it so much worse." He looked around at her finally. "I wish things could be different, I wish I didn't want you the way I do. If we could just be amicable, if I could be less... the way I am. You're the one for me, Emily, I feel it. At first, I was afraid. I didn't like it. I knew what we were to each other and I knew I could never be someone you trusted, someone you felt affection for. It felt wrong to try and force it, to keep you near me, but I... I didn't know you'd be there, you must believe me. I went there for the children." He shook his head. "I didn't... I wasn't trying to be cruel. I don't mean to be this cruel."

He looked into her eyes, his chest heaving. Touched her cheek, for the briefest of moments. "Might you not let me go, Emily?"

"What... what children?"

He swallowed and glanced away from her. He stared at the wall, trying to find the words. "I... I..."

Emily watched his eyes fill with tears, confused. This shouldn't have been hard for him, he was always so very good at lying. She could only think that it was a ploy for her benefit, that he honestly did want her but couldn't admit it, that it wouldn't be as fun if he merely admitted it, and now he was trying to string her along and coax her into believing his lie. The victory would be that much sweeter.

Before she knew what she was doing, she'd raised a hand and slapped him. The sound frightened her, made the both of them flinch. The tears in his eyes vacated and ran down his cheeks.

"You don't have to lie to me!" she yelled. "I never once asked you to lie to me! I came here, dressed like this, thinking we might have a nice evening, and you pull this insane shit! Is there something fucking wrong with you?!"

"I love you," he whispered.

Her eyes flashed, dark with fury, disgust and indignation. She was disgusted at herself. She'd been about to give herself to this fucking creep! "I don't buy that shit, you crazy fuck!" she spat.

He brushed at his cheek. "I have to go."

She grabbed his arm roughly, uncaring as her fingernails dug into his skin. "No! You're not going anywhere! I'm not letting you go off and find some poor, innocent girl to torture and kill for your sick, fucked-up pleasure!"

"I won't do that, I swear!"

"Don't you get it, moron! Your word means nothing to me! Nothing, you imbecile! You're a serial killer. You only stop when you're dead. I'm not a fucking fool, Lyle!"

"I never thought you were a fool."

She smacked his face; took her hand away and crossed her arms. "Why are you crying? It's disgusting!" The disdain and venom in her voice hurt her. She could feel a headache building and she was barely holding herself together. She was afraid to put her hands anywhere near him for fear that they wouldn't want to leave. He was trying to be brave now, but she hated it. She hated the feeling in her chest that told her she'd been so bad, so, so mean. He didn't love her, she wasn't hurting him by calling him a liar, that was exactly what he was, the problem was in catching him out. Unlike her, he had no shame. He wasn't going to break. If anyone broke tonight, it was going to be her.

She forced herself to lift her hands, to brush the tears from his face. "Let's stop this silliness. Let's not play this stupid game anymore," she said. "We both want the same thing, so we might as well give in." She learnt in to press her lips to his and he closed his eyes, sending more tears running down his face.

She kissed him and the tight feeling in her chest seemed to ease in a soft, gentle unwinding of tension, but he only cried harder. Finally, she pulled away, too angry to do anything but glare. "Would you stop crying? Just stop pretending! It ruins the moment."

He sat down on the floor, ignoring everything she'd just said, and she felt a bit guilty. She knew he was diabetic and often didn't manage his condition very well. She was afraid she'd made him forgetful, too wrapped up in this latest game. She'd have gone to get some sweets for him, but she didn't know if he had any, or where he was keeping them.

She knelt down on the floor, trying to catch his gaze, but he wasn't looking at her. He was too busy concentrating on his breathing. "Where are your sweets?" she asked. "Lyle, where are your sweets? You're not yourself. You might be low on sugar."

He didn't bother saying anything. He started to rock strangely, the way children did when they were distressed beyond consolation.

She frowned at him. "Now you're just being horrible!" she muttered. "I can't believe you can be so childish. You're fifty-two, for goodness sakes!" She stood up, shaking her head. She wasn't about to stick around for this kind of crap, to play into his little kid games. She walked out and headed for the bathroom, needing some more wine.

Later, she brushed her teeth and stared at herself in the mirror. She looked like crap. Turning away from the tired, unhappy image of her reflected in the mirror, she left for the bedroom. Stuff Lyle! He could just sleep on the couch, like he'd said he was going to!

She climbed into bed and closed her eyes, knowing she was really going to hate this wedding tomorrow.

* * *

The sound of something ringing woke her later, jarring her from her sleep abruptly, and Emily sat up. The sound was muffled, but it was most definitely a phone. One of the hotel phones, probably. A moment later, the sound stopped.

Emily closed her eyes, deciding that it didn't concern her who rang Lyle at all hours. They might have been married but he'd made it pretty bloody clear that he felt nothing for her, much less respected her. He wouldn't know the meaning of respect if she spelled it out to him, letter by letter.

She tried to get back to sleep, but she was just so wound up that she could barely keep her eyes closed. The incessant whirring in her head was going to drive her insane, drive her to murder, if she was spectacularly unlucky.

She finally gave up on getting back to sleep and got out of bed, deciding that she might as well go for a glass of water. With a tired yawn, she rubbed a hand over the back of her neck and shuffled towards the door and out into the carpeted hall.

As she got nearer to the living room, she heard a knock on the door and froze. She suddenly became irrationally afraid that Lyle had finally had enough of her and decided to offload her onto the company. She stood perfectly still, listening hard whilst her heart beat loudly in her ears.

"Parker told me where you were staying," a man's voice said. "You mind if I come in?"

"No, of course not."

"She said your wife's with you."

"She's asleep."

"Yes. Right. I- I'm sorry. It's crazy late. I didn't wake you? Oh jeez, I did!"

"It's all right, Broots."

"I woke you up. You're still half asleep."

Lyle laughed breathily. "I thought that was my natural state of being. How I move through life. Stupid, slow of wit."

"That was never the case, Lyle. Your father – that idiot – he was just an idiot. He hated that he might not be the centre of the whole universe. You can't believe what he told you. You have-" There was a pause. A frown came into Broots's voice. "Is it supposed to be like that?"

Lyle sniffed. "My wife thinks it's cute. You want something to drink?"

Broots laughed. "Does she really?"

"No, I'm having one over you. I'll fix it. It will be fixed in time for your weddin'. I'll fix it. Don't wanna be scaring the kiddies."

Emily crept closer to the living room, listening to Lyle moving things around in the kitchen area. Suddenly, she was craving coffee. With a mental sigh, she headed for the door. She couldn't do anything about it now, she needed coffee or she'd never get to sleep. She pushed open the door and stumbled into the room.

Broots was sitting on the couch, looking at his cell phone. He looked up and saw her. A frown came onto his face. He quickly got rid of it. "Hello. I'm a friend of your husband. I'm the one who's getting married tomorrow. Today." He frowned and pointed at himself. "I'm Broots."

Emily looked around for Lyle, moving further into the room. She stopped by the couch. "If you're making coffee, I would also like a cup," she said, in the direction of the kitchen. Lyle was deliberately ignoring her, deliberately not looking at her. She had a feeling he just didn't want to glare at her in front of his friend. He'd told Parker they loved each other, and if Broots got an inkling that they didn't, he'd surely let Parker know her brother's new wife wasn't making him happy.

Broots tried a smile and stood up, offering her his hand. His sudden cheerfulness annoyed Emily. "So you're, ah..."

"I'm Emily," she said. She forced herself to take Broots's hand, to shake it.

"Nice to meet you, Emily," Broots said.

She shrugged a shoulder.

Broots nodded. "You came over by plane, did you? Yeah, of course. W-w-? Did you have a pleasant flight?"

"Enough," she said.

"Good. Good. That's good to hear." He grinned, bit his lip to stop from laughing but it didn't work. He laughed, shook his head. "You guys seem happy." He pointed to Lyle, still sulking in the kitchen. "Hubby is- he's fine. He was born here, in Blue Cove. He probably told you he's a Nebraska boy, but he's not really. Blue Cove makes him... sad. His mother – his real mother – died here."

"You gonna tell the girl my whole life's story, Broots?" Lyle asked. "Why don't you tell her about yourself? Lord knows, you're far out cool."

"Your husband been drinking?" Broots asked Emily, with a smile. "He shouldn't do that. It makes him much funnier than he means to be."

"No, I don't think he has."

Broots tossed his head. "Ah, well, I have." He waved a hand. "I took a cab." He made a placating gesture with his hands. "It's all good. Guess I'm nervous." He shot a sidelong glance in Lyle's direction. "I thought you said your wife was asleep."

"She was."

Broots laughed. "You, you. You're pretty funny these days, eh?"

"We're getting separated."

"Oh, Jesus! Are you trying to jinx me, man? You can't be telling me that shit today!"

Emily crossed her arms over her chest, casting her glance towards her husband. "When did you decide this?" she asked.

He glowered at nothing. "Please. I could do worse."

Emily stalked over and stopped in front of him. She started to formulate a response when she noticed one of his eyes looked funny, the wrong colour. It was brown, clearly the wrong colour. The other one was perfectly fine and blue. "What the hell is wrong with your eye?"

"Nothing. Ignore it."

"Why is it that colour?"

"Isn't that its business, not yours?"

She scowled dirtily. "You're not going to your friend's wedding with stupid eyes."

"I don't plan to."

"Oh, jeez!" Broots rubbed a hand over his face. "You guys are really starting to freak me out."

Lyle looked over at him, took a deep breath, and closed his mouth. He turned back to Emily. "We'll talk about this some other time, hon. Now's not all that appropriate, seems. I get that." He punched her arm gently. "I'll get you that coffee now. Have a seat, put your feet up. Relax. We're all friends here."

Emily glared at him. She went and sat down on the couch beside Broots. "I'm really looking forward to the wedding," she lied. "Will there be much alcohol?"

Broots stared at her, half in horror. He nodded. "Yeah, much. Parker's big on that sort of thing."

"Ace."

Lyle came over and handed her a coffee, set Broots's mug down on the coffee table. "It's gonna be fine," he told the other man. "We really do love each other. We just refuse to admit it."

"Mmm." Emily nodded, sipping her coffee. "The truth is, my husband's insane, but I'm cool with that. I mean, I love him, so why wouldn't I be cool with his little quirks? I love all of him."

Lyle ruffled her hair with a hand. "She does. She's strange. In a cute, awesome kind of way. She likes little black lingerie too."

Emily punched him in the arm, her cheeks burning red. "I can't believe you just told him that!"

"Raquel likes cat ears," Broots told them, slurring a little.

Emily refrained from pulling a face and glared at Lyle.

He rolled his eyes.

She poked her tongue out at him. "Your eye looks so stupid!" she whispered.

Lyle stepped closer and leant in to speak quietly with her. "I think we should let him stay here tonight."

Emily prodded him in the shoulder with a finger, pulling a face at him. "Do you mind not breathing in my ear? And dah! He'd probably puke in the cab anyway." She got up, grabbed up her coffee, glared at him a little more. "I'll be in the bedroom. Don't look for me." She stalked out of the room, not once looking back.

Oh God, she hoped Raquel didn't wear cat's ears at her wedding!

* * *

Raquel was beautiful in her modest, white wedding dress and dainty white high heels with little bows on the ends. Her dark hair, like flowing chocolate, was done in a pretty bun, with some tendrils left to frame her face cutely. Her blue eyes shone happily as she sealed her wedding vows with a kiss upon her husband's lips.

Emily tried not to be disappointed that there were no cat's ears. She sat with her legs crossed, wondering if Parker had noticed how much like her Raquel appeared, the dark hair and blue eyes, the pale complexion and small bones.

The reception was held in Parker's lovely back garden. It was such a gorgeous space and likely hadn't seen this much action since the days of Catherine Parker's famous garden parties. It was cool outside on the lawn but inside it was warm and cosy, the perfect setting.

Emily watched Broots and his new bride dancing and was glad she had a glass of wine in her hand. Lyle had fallen asleep in the chair beside her and she wasn't game to wake him and have him get snipey in full view of all Broots's guests. With him here with her, nobody was going to ask her to dance. The thought filled her with overwhelming glumness. She hadn't much wanted to dance on her wedding night; she'd preferred to cry and cry and ruin it all.

Parker walked by later and stopped to take a seat beside her. "Are you enjoying the wedding?" she asked, and Emily forced a smile onto her face.

"Yes, thank you," she said. "It's all very lovely."

Parker nodded, smiling tightly, and leaned over to shake her brother's arm. She stood up and walked around Emily, shook her brother's arm again. Raines appeared behind her and touched her arm. She stepped back and let him deal with it, crossing her arms and trying not to frown.

"Lyle, it's William." He turned to Emily. "Is he on any medication at the moment, dear?"

"I wouldn't know about that, I'm sorry. I'm afraid we had a late night. He was talking very strangely, saying he'd rather we separated. I didn't want to argue with him; I went to bed."

Parker glanced seriously at Raines, nodding a fraction. "I felt a bit strange last night."

"How do you feel now?"

"Fine."

Lyle woke with a start, his eyes wide in alarm. One of his eyes was still brown, he hadn't fixed it. He looked at his sister, then to William and back to his sister again, looking stricken. He seemed to want to say something but he couldn't get the words out.

Parker leaned closer. "Hello, Lyle."

He looked at William, breathing shakily. "Hello," he said, to Parker.

"What's wrong?" Parker asked.

"No. Nothing. Are we in Blue Cove?"

She nodded.

He nodded, blinking back tears. "Hometown."

Parker smiled. "It's okay," she told him. "We're having a party. It's Broots's wedding." She nodded to Emily. "Your wife's here."

He looked around at Emily, put his arms around her and hugged her. She made a face at Parker, but didn't push him away.

"It's all right," Parker told her quietly. "He's just disorientated. It'll be the meds."

Raines leaned closer to her. "Strange?"

She shrugged. "I'm fine now."

"Hmm."

She laughed and walked away. He followed her, then, spotting Sydney, made to talk with him. Sydney laughed and shook his head; actually, he'd have preferred they didn't get into another of their "discussions" at Mr. Broots's wedding.

Michelle appeared and handed Sydney a glass of wine, offering him a smile. She gave William a reproving look. "You boys be good now."

"Always," William told her.

She widened her eyes, grinning. "You'll forgive me if I don't believe you, Billy."

"Nnn."

She waved to them both and backed away, a hand in the air. She whirled around and waltzed away, across the soft green grass.

* * *

They walked back to the hire car, picking their way along the street by the meagre lamp light and the weak light straining through the windows of the houses dotted along the street, the night heavily overcast and a cold wind blowing. Emily's hair was messy and her shoes had grass strains. She thought she'd probably had a worse time at Lyle's friend's wedding than she did at her own, and that had been pretty crap, in honesty. At least she'd gotten a laugh or two back then, but she hadn't had a single thing to laugh at tonight.

She felt kinda sick; she'd had too much wine and too little to eat, and those little appetisers, which she'd probably had a hundred of, didn't count. They only made her feel sicker. She let Lyle hold her hand because she was afraid she'd trip and fall over if he wasn't there to lead the way; she really did feel like crap.

Leaning closer as they walked, she said, "You didn't do your kind proud tonight. You were awful and I feel awful."

He nodded silently.

She thought she was going to laugh, really thought she would, but then she felt hot tears tracing down her icy cheeks and she realised she'd started to cry. Without a sound.

They kept on walking until they stopped at the corner, under the light of a street lamp, and Lyle touched her face, turning her to face him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and kissed her. For one moment she felt so sick and alone, she could have run and run and never once looked back, and in the next moment she was just warm. Safe.

* * *

Parker sighed, placing her glass in the sink. Lyle and Emily had stayed to help with the cleaning up, but now they'd gone back to their hotel. She was alone again and it was dark outside, like it always was at this time. She had lived her life like this, coming home to an empty house. Not cold, but lonely.

She left her glass in the sink and left the bottle on the table, made herself a hot chocolate instead. Now, she was just waiting, waiting for Jarod's call. She had good news for him, in a way, though she didn't know if he'd be more happy or more sad, more upset. She supposed he might be a little of each, and that was okay. That was how she felt, a lot of the time.

The wedding had been nice. It had been nice seeing Broots smile, seeing him happy. It would have been perfect, if not for Lyle. The look he'd given William just got to her, as if he'd wanted to say something to her, but not with William around. She had no often allowed him into her house, into her backyard; tonight had been one of the few times. She wondered what he might have said, if he'd tell her later, some other time.

Maybe he'd never tell her, and William's secret would be safe. She supposed William had a lot of secrets like that, the ones people knew but never told, for whatever reason. Because they had secrets of their own, secrets they shouldn't want someone else telling for them, secrets that weren't only their own.

When the phone rang, she picked it up on the first ring. "Hmm?"

"Hey," Jarod said.

"Hey," she replied. "So, I'm guessing you heard about Broots's wedding?"

"Yes, I did. Was it good?"

"It was. Sydney and Raines even had a civil conversation. Listen, I have some news for you."

"Which is?"

"It might be tough to hear-"

"Tell me!" She could hear the frown in his voice. He didn't care for her gentleness, for her concern, he wanted to hear what she had to say, to decide for himself what he thought of it, if it was tough or not.

"All right, but don't say I didn't warn you. Your sister's alive. Emily's alive."

"Where did you hear this? From Raines?"

"No. Not from Raines. I met her. Yesterday, at the airport."

"At the airport? Why was she at the airport?"

"She came with her husband, for Broots's wedding."

"What are you talking about, Parker?"

"Apparently she's married to my brother. They're _in love_."

She could hear Jarod's scowl in his angry laugh. "Is that what Lyle told you? And what do you think?"

"I think it's not my place to interfere. Emily seems to have it all under control."

"You _think_ she has!"

"She could be happier, I guess, but I don't think he's done anything to harm her. I gather he married her to keep her safe. I don't know why he'd do that, why he'd care at all, but it's what he told me and I believed him."

"Have you spoken to Emily?"

"She seems reluctant to talk with me. She said..." She fell short.

"What did she say?" Jarod demanded.

"She said they were expecting a child, but I don't believe that. I... I think she said it for effect, so I'd think they were happy together and in love. If she really was pregnant, I don't think she'd have been drinking as much as she was tonight. She really put 'em back. I was surprised; she's so tiny, but she can really drink."

"How does she seem around Lyle?"

"Angry, annoyed. He's... different. Tired. He wasn't really interested in putting on a big show. It's strange, not a side of him I ever expected to see, I can honestly say. Hope I don't..." She shrugged. "She seems to help. Just being there. I thought, you know, he wouldn't be interested in someone like that, and Emily, well, I guess she used to be quite the vibrant type. Full of life. It's not like that anymore. They're unhappy, but they're unhappy together."

"I'm-"

Parker made a face. "No, Jarod, you cannot come here. You have to let her live her life, however unhappily she does so. She's safe, Jarod. Lyle is not going to hurt her; I think she might be the only thing keeping him here."

"How is she safe with that lunatic?"

"Triumvirate law says she's safe from acquisition if she's affiliated with an approved company. Spouses are automatically affiliated with the same company their spouse works for. Children too, if they have any. The Centre can't take her away from Lyle, it's against Triumvirate law. If they're caught in violation of Triumvirate law, the company risks losing their Affiliation. If you're still worried, I'll tell you something, all right. I worked as a lawyer for this company for years before I was recruited onto your Retrieval Team, and even I don't know some of the things Lyle knows about Triumvirate law. He might've been illiterate once, but not anymore. He doesn't like anyone to have an advantage over him. He's on top of this, Jarod. His security is very important to him. If they are stupid enough to make a sly move on your sister, they will be sorry.

"They live in Washington. I'm sure they have a nice house in a nice neighbourhood in a nice city. Emily certainly has nice clothes; she's not being starved. She's okay, Jarod. Not wonderful, but she's okay. I don't think Lyle would have done something like this without her okay. It must have been a big disadvantage for him, to begin with. They don't just live together, Jarod, they're married."

"I suppose you've seen the Marriage Certificate, too?" Jarod growled.

"Didn't have to. I buy it. But you cannot visit her. The company still has a retrieval order out on you. If Lyle catches you, he's obligated to take you in. I don't think Emily would enjoy seeing something like that."

"She's my sister!"

"And she's safe, Jarod!"

"Not enough!"

Parker shook her head. Just as she was about to add something further, Jarod hang up on her. She sighed heavily. She hoped Jarod wasn't that foolish, but she could hardly stop him from doing what he wanted to do. He always did just what he wanted to, no matter what she might think or say.

She finished her cocoa and left to go to bed. She was tired. It had been a long day.

* * *

They sat by the window as the rain fell in sheets, drumming against the darkened glass. He traced a circle on the back of her hand, staring away into the gloom as they listened to the rain. "I was never in love," he whispered. "Not ever before. I knew what it was, and I always thought it would be kind of nice, but it never came to touch me, to make me anew."

"No. I don't think I have been either," Emily confided, her head leant on his shoulder in the dark hotel room, lit by nothing but the light of the night. "It must be very compelling, I always think. To be in love. I love my family and I love... life, I guess, but it... it's something else, too."

"It frightens me, sometimes. I don't know if I trust it."

Emily frowned, biting her lip. She lifted her head from her shoulder and looked into his eyes through the low light. "What do you mean?"

"I wouldn't... Would I know, if it meant to hurt me?"

"If the person you loved meant to hurt you, do you mean? Or if... you... hurt you?"

"I don't know. The universe, people, stuff that just happens. Hurt is hurt; doesn't make much difference how it began, does it? Won't make it hurt any less."

"Sometimes hurt isn't all bad."

"And then, sometimes, it is. Wanting someone, that isn't love. It's... sometimes a part of love, but... no guarantees."

"Don't you want me?" she asked.

"Like a person wants life, but people get mean with the things they want, get greedy, careless, and that's not love. The kind of love people want is the considerate kind, the kind that won't take their last breath from them and sigh in regret that there wasn't more still."

"I suppose."

"My father... Lyle... he wasn't considerate like that. If he wanted something, he took it. Didn't matter what anyone else wanted, or felt."

Emily frowned. "He hurt you?"

"Bobby. Bobby loved him, loved both his parents, but not like that. It was mean, and he was never nice. He hurt people, just because he could. Sometimes, you only think it must be love, and... it's not, it's just wanting.

"That's not how I want to love you."

"You wouldn't," Emily said quietly.

He tilted his head. "Well, forgive me, but I don't trust that I wouldn't. I can picture it, even now. It's not a pleasant sight. I have me some funny turns, darlin', and I wouldn't want you getting hurt. What could you do, mm?"

Emily bit her lip. She couldn't help but agree he had a point. She had to stay with him, she couldn't leave or else she wanted to put herself in danger of unwilling acquisition, but if she had to stay when he hurt her, when he said, the very next day, "I'm sorry; I love you, I do", it would be just as bad as anything the company could do to her.

"I think I like you too," she said quietly. "I think I want to... find out what that could be like."

"But you would never hurt me like I could hurt you," he said.

"You assume that, because I am a woman."

"Anything you could do to me, I could forgive. I could never forgive myself if I hurt you, Emily. I'm not trying to be selfish, but they say I'm human too. I must act with regard for others, with practicality."

Emily smiled at him sadly. "I'm not going to have forever. I want to have a child while I still can. You're my husband. You're the proper person who should be the father of my child. You do understand that. As much as it might hurt, emotionally. You chose me. You told me you love me. I don't hate you. I'm willing to give you a chance. Do you understand?" She placed her hand over his, searching his eyes with hers. "You understand?"

He nodded, frowning a little painfully.

"Do you think you could do this for me?"

"I'm not a good person, Emily. I've not been a good person."

"It's in the past. You might not feel you're a different person, but it's our actions that mean the most. I don't think you would intentionally harm a child. Any child."

He shrugged.

"Would you do this for me? Would you give me something good to love?"

He nodded.

She smiled brightly, her eyes shining in the gloom. She leant her head against his gently, feeling his warmth wrap itself securely around her. She pressed a kiss against his forehead and whispered, "Thank you."

Then she stood up and went to bed. At the door, she paused with a smile. "Good night. Sleep tight."

* * *

She sat on the bed, the radio playing the morning weather report, and looked through the items in her suitcase, looking for something that might be nice for their special night. She found her baby doll at the bottom of her suitcase and placed it on the mattress, thinking it over. The last time she'd worn it, things hadn't gone so well.

She left the baby doll set out on the bed and took out a soft green cardigan she treasured as one of her favourite pieces of clothing. The rest of her clothes, she returned to the suitcase.

Placing her suitcase down at the end of the bed, she sat back on the bed with a smile. Yeah, she thought it might be okay. It might actually be okay for them.

* * *

Walking into the kitchen area, she looked around at all the food and smiled. She knew Lyle liked to do things when he felt uncertain or out of his depth. Cooking always seemed to calm him down. "Who's all this for?" she asked, with a laugh in her voice.

He patted her nose. "It's for my wife."

"It's for me?"

He nodded, taking a chair out for her. She sat down and grabbed his hand when he came back with a coffee and set it down on the table, gave it a squeeze. "Thank you."

He sat down across from her with a glass of water to take his pills.

Emily sipped her coffee quietly. She'd never asked him about his pills before, had never wondered what they did, what they were for, she'd always just thought, _Well, they're for his craziness. They're to make him better, sane._ Right now, she wanted to ask about them. She honestly wanted to know what they all did, but she didn't ask. She didn't want to ruin this friendship between them. It actually felt sort of nice.

* * *

After breakfast, they took the bus to the cemetery to visit Catherine, Faith and James. As they walked among the graves and the bare trees, the sound of the ocean crashing in the background, Lyle hummed an old Irish tune.

Catherine had been born in Ireland, he'd said on the bus. Many, many years ago. When she'd come to America, she'd wanted to leave those sad times behind her, to start anew. She'd liked to dance. She'd often visited the fields outside town to be closer to the sky, the heavens. Miss Parker had told him that once. Catherine had been university educated. She'd once been a laboratory assistant. She'd known how to be strong, and how to be soft. She had seen both worlds, and in the end, she had chosen kindness, compassion. She'd been a good person, deep down. Yes, she had left her daughter and newborn son, but she had never planned on hurting them, abandoning them.

And the world kept on turning, as it was meant to.

Emily thought that what Lyle was trying to say was that he didn't know if he'd be able to be there for any child that they might have together; he'd meant to be there for Reagan also, if only as an older brother, and then he'd been sent away for work. She'd wanted to reassure him, tell him that everything would be fine, but she knew he was right. Sometimes things happened, and hearts got broken, so she'd stayed quiet.

He seemed to be happier now, in any case.

She didn't ask him how he knew the old song he was humming. Miss Parker could have taught him it, for all she knew, or maybe he also had inherited Catherine's gift for hearing the Voices, perhaps he even heard Catherine's Voice. She put her questions aside and let herself just be here, in this moment, with her husband, someone she thought she might well be able to love one day.

The sunlight peeking through the clouds was warm on her face despite the cooling breeze, and the grass underfoot was pleasantly soft beneath her sneakers. She wasn't bothered to be walking through a place of burial, she was interested to see her husband's family's gravestones. One day, they might even be her family too, her child's family.

They stopped at Catherine's grave and Emily read the inscriptions. Lyle left an origami crane for Faith. Emily had watched him make it on the bus. She didn't know how he'd done it with all the jarring and stopping, but none of that had phased him. Lucy, a woman he'd worked with in Blue Cove, had taught him how, he'd told her. The crane was a symbol of hope.

Lyle went to stand beside Emily. "Hello, Mom." He glanced at Emily a moment. "This is my wife, Emily. She's a good person. You would have liked her, I think." He frowned. "We live in Washington. It rains a lot. We're visiting for Ezra's wedding. He was married yesterday, to a woman named Raquel who makes him very happy."

"She was nice," Emily agreed.

Lyle sighed. "We had a party in Mel's backyard. There was dancing and all." He scratched his cheek. "We didn't dance."

"He was sleeping," Emily added.

"I was. I was tired." He turned to Emily, held his hand out to her. "Make it up to you, darlin'?"

She stared at him, and laughed. "We're in a cemetery," she reminded him.

"My mom likes dancing."

Emily fluffed up her hair nervously. She glanced at Catherine's gravestone with a half smile. She laughed, crunching her nose up. "Because your mom likes dancing." She shot Catherine's grave a wink, and stepped closer to Lyle, letting him take her hand.

Lyle sang Dusty Springfield's "I Wanna Make You Happy" as they danced and Emily found herself fighting off a bout of giggles. Yeah, she was pretty sure Catherine was embarrassed to no end right now. She was. It was absolutely cute but so embarrassing and she kept forgetting her steps, trying to keep from bursting into laughter.

They stopped dancing abruptly and Emily looked around, wondering why, and spotted Jarod standing there, a gun in hand. A gun he was pointing at her husband.

She stopped smiling. "Jarod?"

"Emily?" He didn't lower the gun, the jaw set stiffly. His eyes were hard, but his tone hadn't been.

"It's me, big brother." She smiled, her heart filling simultaneously with both happiness and sadness. She searched for his gaze and held it, tears filling her eyes. "I'm okay," she breathed.

"We thought you had died," he said.

"No." Emily shook her head, loose hair flying into her face. She pushed it away roughly. "I'm here. I'm okay." She rushed up to him and put her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"You married that murderer!"

"I had to. It was the only way. I swear to you, Jarod. I... I..."

"She certainly doesn't love me, if that's your worry," Lyle stepped in. "I am, as you say, a murderer. Truthfully, she could never care for me. But she manages, graciously, to tolerate me, for the purposes of our arrangement. She's a true darling, as I'm sure you know, big brother."

Emily stared at him. She knew they didn't get along, but this was silly. Stupid. "Don't provoke him, Lyle."

Lyle rolled his eyes. "Nah, I couldn't provoke him. Jarod knows he can't do anything to me. Where would that leave you, babe? In a lot of trouble, I think. Painful trouble, p'rhaps."

Emily turned sharply to her brother. "Put the gun down, Jarod."

"I don't think so," Jarod told her.

Lyle walked over and took hold of Emily's hand. "She's with me now," he said.

Emily shot him a dirty look. Why was he being like this, why was he being so antagonistic? There was no call for it. She tried to catch Lyle's eye, but he was too busy staring at her brother with, a vaguely disturbing glint in his eyes.

Emily glanced at Jarod urgently and finally managed to catch his attention. "Do you know what happened to the others, the ones who were being kept with me in that awful place?"

"They were offered asylum by Elisabeth Tam, a rival of the Centre." He glanced into Emily's eyes. "They're all right. The offer of asylum is overseen by the Triumvirate and comes with strict guidelines. If they had refused the offer, they would have been open to acquisition, but they did the smart thing and took up the Tams' offer. Under the rules of asylum, they're under no obligation to offer anything in return for safe harbour and affiliation. They may do so, but nobody can force them to. They got lucky."

Lyle grinned. "Come on, genius! You know Tam's counting on their gratitude. Those kids, they'll probably wind up working for the Tams one of these days, and then the Centre will be kicking themselves for not offering them asylum first. I know I will be, but as you know, I don't speak for my company. I'm just a number in a file." He shrugged. "Pity. Some of those kids looked promising-like. Ah well. I still got your baby sister." He grinned, all self assured and pleased with himself.

Emily shook her head. "I never heard about this offer," she told Jarod. She turned to stare at Lyle, her eyes sad. "You didn't tell me about Elisabeth Tam's offer."

"Are you kidding me, woman?" He laughed. "If I'd done that, you'd have high-tailed it for sure and that would've been the last I ever saw of you. There's no need to look so upset. I didn't cheat you out of anything, not really. This way, we get to be together. Who else would've loved you like I do, darlin'? You'd have died alone and unloved. Trust me, I did you a favour."

Emily slapped him across the face, her eyes full of dark, glimmering fury.

He laughed and rubbed his face. "Okay. Unexpected, but I think I like." He winked at her. "Stick with me, hon, you're my kinda gal."

"You disgust me!" Emily spat. "I can't believe I was such a simpleton to swallow your pathetic, _sick_ lies!"

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Says the girl who tried to seduce me not two nights ago, back when she hadn't heard a single one of my pathetic, sick lies. Yeah, sure. I disgust you. Does that mean you disgust yourself, too? Man, that's heavy."

Emily lunged at him but Jarod held her back, grabbing a hold of her arm tightly. "Calm down, Emily. He's just pushing your buttons. They didn't offer you that deal. They wanted you for their Pet. There never was any deal for you."

Lyle laughed, giving him a look of ridiculousness. "What are you talking about?"

"The offer didn't include Emily," Jarod growled. "Are you hard of hearing, idiot? They knew who Emily was. If they offered her asylum, there was a better than good chance that she'd walk away scot-free, with fifteen years worth of free affiliation. She wasn't some traumatised little kid who just maybe possessed some underlying abilities. She's _my_ sister!"

"She's useless. A Recessive. What do they want her for?"

"You Centre morons!" Jarod scowled. "Tam doesn't believe in Recessives, you half wit!"

"Half wit." Lyle laughed. "Oh yeah?"

"I thought you'd have known that, given your Pet Master's love of Tam propaganda."

"Well, you know, old Billy also likes to tell himself he's our father." He snorted. "Yeah right. That's just distasteful." He tossed his head. "Yeah, I've heard all that crap before. Doesn't mean I believe it." He glanced at Emily, wide eyed. "You think you're special, baby? Think you got some hidden super powers?" He laughed. "She don't believe it herself, genius. She's just a sad, sorry little girl. She's lucky to have me, you know. You don't make many friends when you can't sit still for five minutes, always looking over your shoulder. Heck, you could. I mean, anything's possible, right? But, you'd only end up leaving them in the end anyway. And if they're real unlucky, you could get them killed.

"I'm not that easy to kill, and I ain't gonna leave her when it looks like things might get a little hot. She intrigues me, and she's kinda cute. Plus, she is your baby sis. She's special. One of a kind, you might say."

He pulled Emily towards him, put an arm around her shoulder. "Did you hear? We're having a baby."

Emily pushed him away from her, glaring at him. "I'd rather kill myself, freak!"

"Ah, she says that now."

"Shut your stupid mouth, Lyle!" Parker scowled, stalking over and glaring at him. "You're a bloody idiot. I can't believe we're actually related." She waved hello to Jarod. "What did I say, Wonder Boy?"

"Go to Hell, Parker," Jarod scowled.

Lyle shook his head, grinning for a moment, then the smile wiped off his face. "I was just about to call you," he told Parker. "Sheesh, it really is like we're twins. You read my mind or something, Sis?" he laughed.

The glare didn't budge from Parker's face. "You fucking tool," she spat disgustedly. "You're worse than Bartholomew."

"Hey, that's not nice. Sydney respects that guy. Even if he is a tool." He stopped smiling. "I am not worse than him. Sydney doesn't respect me, does he?"

"Just stop talking, Lyle," Parker told him.

"Jeez! You're just pissed Jarod didn't come to see you! Shallow, Sis. Real shallow. He's a company _asset_. Besides, he's a major creep, if you ask me. He never even thanked me for savin' his sister's ass."

"Do I have to shoot you?"

He grinned. "Yeah?"

"You're a sick loser, Lyle. Sick!"

"Whatever. At least I _have_ a wife!"

"I don't want a wife."

He laughed. "Whatever." He gestured to Jarod, his expression cooling. "He's all yours, Sis." Thinking better, he frowned, rounding on her suddenly. "Hang on, what did you say to him? When was this? You two spoke? He told you he was coming here and you didn't apprise the company?" He grabbed hold of her arms urgently. "What the Hell, Parker! Are you insane?!"

"Get your disgusting-" She shoved him away from her roughly, stepping around him and scanning the area for signs of Jarod and Emily. "You fucking idiot!"

"Oh come on!" Lyle complained. "They did not." He took a deep breath. "Sorry, Sis. I honestly didn't think they'd try that one. I won't tell if you don't."

Parker shook her head at his uselessness and walked away.

"Damn it! Why do they always do that?" He sighed, talking to himself. "She'll be back. I have faith. She likes me. She'll be back. She won't be able to stay away."

Parker snorted as she was walking away. Yeah, sure. If she did come back, it would be with an assault rifle, or a Russian tank.

* * *

Lyle sat down on the grass in front of Catherine's grave. "I'm sorry, Mom," he told her gravestone. "What choice did I have?" He rolled his eyes. "You know I never pass up a perfectly good opportunity for deception, and she handed it right to me. How could I say _no_?"

He sighed. "Don't look at me like that. You'd have done the same thing. What was I supposed to do? Act all hurt when she said I meant nothing to her and she was just using me? Well, guess what, I'm not hurt. I liked her, sure, but I knew it was all just an act for her. She can't help it. We're Chosen. But underneath, ultimately, she'd never be happy with me. A murderer!" He laughed. "As if, Ma!" He started to hum Dusty Springfield's "Losing You." " 'I try forgetting you, but you're still here on my mind. It would take a miracle, but someday maybe I'll find that I'm in the loving arms of some... one...' I detest that song. I detest that song."

He glanced at the gravestone. "You think she'll come back?" He sighed. "Who the hell am I talking to? It's not like you're really there. I'm so crazy." He lay back on the grass. A moment later, he laughed. "Yeah, yeah, but they didn't get the kids! Better luck next time, losers!"

He stared up at the clouds. "I am such a fuckin' jerk. Yay me!" He scoffed. "Sore loser much, Lyle? Yeah, shut up."

He sighed heavily and stood up. "I'm gonna get cat ears. Wife doesn't want me, that's cool. Broots always did like me, and he has that cute wife now. We could totally do a threesome. It's gonna be epic, babes!"

"I think I'm gonna throw up," Parker told him, stomping back over unhappily.

"Yo, girl! You wanna join our threesome?"

"No, but I do want to shoot you, freak!"

"You're so hot when you're pretending to be mad at me."

"Yep, we're not related. Cuckoo!"

He scratched the back of his neck. "What? What has some clock got to do with it?"

"Idiot."

"Oh man! I think I got a rash from that grass. That is not awesome." He glared at the ground. "Can we get a coffee, Sis? I'm kinda out of it." He sniffed. "And I'm cold." He started to sing "Stay Awhile", and walked into the car. "Sis, learn how to park a car."

She rolled her eyes. "Lyle, learn how to use your eyes."

"We're at the car already? That was fast." He patted the car. "Are we getting coffee soon? I feel freaky."

"You are freaky," she told him, unlocking the car. "Get in the car, idiot, before I drive off and leave you here."

"Wh-where?" He turned in a circle, looking around him. "I don't like these kind of places. It's creepy." He scratched his neck. "Gg! How do you open this thing?"

Parker walked over and opened the door for him. When they got to the drive-thru she had to shake him awake. "We're getting trashy coffee. How do you take yours?"

"Subterfuge. Subterfuge all the way, baby."

"Your coffee?"

"Black, no sugar." He stared out the windscreen, looking dejected. "Did my wife leave me?"

"Yeah. Get over it."

"I liked her. She was cuddly."

"If you ask me, she seemed like a frigid, complaining bitch. You're better off without her."

He shook his head. "She wasn't. She was nice. We were gonna have a baby, too."

"Big loss there," Parker muttered.

"I'll have to write her, beg her to come home. I don't know how to do that, but I'm sure they have a book on it somewhere."

Parker snorted. "Why don't you Google it?"

"Ew. Gross." He scruffed up his hair, agitated. "Computers hate me. And I hate them."

When the young woman serving them had handed her their drinks, Parker passed Lyle his coffee. She'd thoughtfully asked the girl to add some cold water so it wouldn't be scolding if it happened to end up on someone's lap, like her brother's.

"Computers are so stuffy and boring. You can't graffiti them. Stuffy and boring. Tah." He took a sip of his coffee. "What's in this stuff? I swear I just saw a unicorn prance by."

Parker rolled her eyes. "Isn't that reindeer, Lyle? Maybe you should Google it, just to be certain?"

"No way in Hell!" He took another sip of his coffee, scowling.

"Write-her write her, or email her?" Parker asked.

He gave her a dirty look. "Oh, I see! You're in league with the unicorn!"

She snorted. "You know, I think you actually have to have her address to be able to send her letters."

"I'm your brother! Get rid of that unicorn, you don't need it! You have us, you have your family!"

"Ah."

"I'll ask her mother where she's staying," he told her.

"Drink your coffee, Lyle. You're really starting to lose it now. If you even got near her mom, she'd shoot you dead on the spot, no questions asked."

"You don't know her. She's a nice person. She has nice eyes. She wouldn't shoot me just like that. She'd probably tell me I was going to Hell and then shoot me."

"Nice."

He smiled. "You _have_ met her!"

"No, you loop. Drink your coffee."


	2. Chapter 2

Emily sipped her coffee quietly, pondering the darkness outside the windows of the diner where she and Jarod had stopped a short while ago.

Jarod still hadn't touched his own coffee. Instead, he glanced up at Emily, his expression serious. "You should go back to him. You'll be safer there."

Emily made a face, hoping he'd catch her hint. She was back with her family now, with her brother; Lyle was nothing more than a fading memory. "Safer how?" she asked.

"Look, I don't know what he's mixed up in," Jarod told her. "All I know is, you're good. With him, they can't touch you. If you're really worried, Em, he can look after you. When he was seventeen, he took down two Sweeper teams without even breaking a sweat. Eight Sweepers, Emi. He was Catherine's son, you can believe me. It was beautiful. Worrying, but beautiful. He was trained. He knew exactly what he was doing. Nobody died, they weren't even seriously injured. He was with someone before Raines got to him, a group, and I think his father was involved somehow. The boy could take care of himself, but he let his dad get away with mistreating him. Do you understand, Emi? The Centre are not the first. He's not their boy, sweetie. He's been hurt, manipulated before. They're just the convenient thing, right now. But you – you seem to mean something to him. I don't think he meant to do what he did. It wasn't part of the plan. But then there you were."

He sighed. "With the offer of asylum, Dad had someone ask around. Tam never offered you that offer, Emily. And frankly, Lyle's reaction tells me he's been playing this game for a long, long time. He felt very threatened by what I said. Very threatened. Anything less and I can tell you now, he would not have said those things he did about you. I don't mean to get freaky on you, but he sees you as a person. A real living, feeling person. You don't say those things about people you care about. So, you're having a baby?"

"No." Emily shook her head, the look in her eyes a mixture of horror, disgust and upset. "No, we're not like that."

Jarod nodded. "Yeah, I know. He's gentle with you, like you might... break. But you're not that easy to break, are you? If you'd been 'like that', he'd have known you don't break easily."

Emily put her hands over her face, ran them down her face slowly. "I used to have nightmares. Really horrific nightmares. When we moved in together. I guess... I guess they... medicated me or something at the... hospital, wherever. But then we got married and... he didn't want me having those drugs. He said they would only hinder my recovery, and he didn't want me becoming dependant on them. I didn't argue with him. I don't like taking pills; any kind of pills. Anything that I don't know what's in it. I hate it. I didn't want the pills. They may have made me sleep – forced me to sleep – but they gave me no way to fight the nightmares, they put me completely at their mercy. I couldn't live like that. So I woke up every night, six or seven times, screaming my absolute lungs out. But I was drug-free."

"What happened?"

"He stayed with me. Sung to me, held me. Like you do to a child. I didn't want him to, but it helped. I could sleep. He has some... some hold on me. And I don't like it! I don't like it, Jarod! I want it to stop! Just stop! Nobody, nobody should have that power over someone else."

Jarod frowned. "What... what if it's not... some kind of power? What if you just realise he truly does care for you, and that makes you care for him a little bit too?"

Emily scoffed sarcastically, her narrowed eyes critical. "Are you kidding me, Jarod? What a joke!" She laughed and shook her head.

"What has he said to you, Emi?"

"Nothing. He says nothing."

"The Centre didn't pay for your medical expenses, Emily. He did. He contacted Elisabeth Tam about those children, suggested they offer them asylum. The Triumvirate doesn't advertise that sort of thing, especially an ongoing investigation. But Tam were ready; they'd been tipped off. Had a lot of time to think it through. Dad had someone ask around. That's why we thought you'd died. Those kids thought you had; Tam, too. Those people who took you were very, very bad people, Emily. They did bad things. Things that upon investigation were proved to be in violation of Triumvirate law. Clearly and emphatically. Not one person spoke out; they were in on it. Every single one of them, aside from the 'subjects'. The Triumvirate weren't saying what happened to you. Not a thing. That's what they're like, Emily. They run their own show; they don't answer to anyone. The Centre, Elisabeth Tam – they answer to _them_.

"There's a group. Anti-Possessor group. Lyle told Ethan about them. Three years ago. Shining Hill, they call themselves. They're waging a war on Possessors, and they're not interested in taking prisoners or hostages or making bargains. They don't ask questions. They shoot first. This group, the one who took you, I think they were involved with Shining Hill, conducting experiments for them. Calculating how best to kill Possessors. People like us. They killed people, kids."

Emily shrugged. "I don't see what that has to do with Lyle," she said carelessly.

"He has a kid."

"So?"

"He's a good Pretender, Emily, but he's no different from you or I. He's not some alien hybrid, he's really human. One hundred percent human. On top of which, he happens to be a Possessor. Blood bonds are strong with Possessors."

"Dad still left," Emily said. "He just left."

"To protect Mum and you, Emi!" Jarod told her.

"Yeah, I know. But he left, he went away. Strong, or not, they can just... not give a damn. I know that wasn't Dad's game, but Lyle isn't Dad. Personally, I don't think he could give a shit about his kid." She laughed. "You wanna know what he said to me, Jarod? You really wanna know! He said we were Chosen. Whatever the hell that means!"

Jarod sighed heavily, running a hand over his hair. "It means you're Convergence partners. Tam term. Chosen, beloved, the One. It means you have a bond. Didn't ask for it, didn't go looking for it, did nothing at all to encourage it, but it's what happens if you're like us. I guess Raines would say it's something the universe decides for us. It's not love. It's worse. Disgusting. But we can't do anything about it. Once you've found your Chosen, you better watch out. You walk away and you will come walking back, of your own volition or not." He frowned. "That's why he couldn't just leave you to your own devices, why he had to arrange something. He worked it out that first time you met and he tried killing you. There was going to be no do-over; he had to do things right this time, or risk damaging himself beyond repair. So now you are... another part of him. His other half." He nodded. "It makes sense now."

He sighed, to Emily's unasked question. "No. I don't think I've ever met my Convergence partner, but... I think I believe. If I'd met her, I'm sure I would have known. I thought... Parker and I might... but it was Residual Convergence. Nothing more. She's not my One."

"I'm not going back," Emily told him, no room for argument in her tone.

"You will," Jarod said. "Eventually, you will. You'll probably feel a bit off at first, unlike yourself, and then you'll lose your appetite; you may have pain for absolutely no reason, and then the dreams will start. And then the pain will get a whole, whole lot worse! The confusion. Your mental state will plummet.

"Nobody's saying you have to get together, but you've got to... hang out some of the time. You said you haven't... been intimate. I'm thinking that would have been hard, but more so for Lyle because he knows what's been going on, he's a Possessor through and through, gets his abilities, and you know what, I think you have an advantage on him. I think you're a Mediator, and I think he knows it. You're not practised in the art, and you let your feelings and emotions take the lead when it comes to Lyle, rather than trusting in your abilities, but you are. You're a Mediator. He rather convincingly downplayed the whole thing, putting you down like that, but it was just a ploy. Nothing more than a ploy. He's used to responding to problems exactly the way he did yesterday at the cemetery, used to people buying it, no questions asked, but Mum said I should watch him. She said he'd try and trick me, and you know what, he did that. He did that, and now I see who he is. He's not who I thought he was; he got me. He got me good. But now I know, and I'm not going to be conveniently forgetting any time soon.

"He may still be working for his old group, or he may not. The main thing is, you're safer with him. He won't let them hurt you. Unless they find a way to sever your Convergence bond, nobody's going to be laying a hand on you. I can't promise you that kind of security, Emily. I'd love to say I can – I'd love to be able to, period – but it's just not possible. Just not possible. Do you understand?"

"I'm not going back, Jarod," Emily told him. "I'm not strong. You keep saying that, but I'm not. I'm breaking. I'm breaking, and I can't stop it. I can't stop myself. I disgust myself, but I can't stop. I can't live that way, Jarod. I'd rather die than go back. You might as well put a bullet in my brain yourself."

"You have an unmissable opportunity here, girl! You're not gonna throw it all away because you're _scared_! I know you're not a coward! Your mother didn't raise you to be no coward, child."

Emily spun around in her chair, staring at her father with wide eyes. "Dad?"

He nodded. "Good to see you again, sweetheart. You're looking well."

Emily shook her head. "I can't do it, Dad. I can't. Do you even know the monstrous things he's done? He's not human, Dad. He's lower than human. He's dirt. He's not even that. I like dirt. He's a monster. Everything about him is wrong, sick. He's evil, Dad. You're not the one who has to live with him. You don't know how it is. I have to let him touch me when I just want to run away, or rip his throat out and let him bleed to death on the ground, like he deserves."

"But he let Ethan go. He let your brother go. He told him to watch his back, and he let him go."

"He's trying to trick you. It's just a part of the game," Emily told him.

"I don't think so," Charles replied. "I think the game has tired him out. Never stops; you never come to the end and collect your reward. You just get more crap. More crap, until you eventually end up dying, like Kyle.

"I don't think he wants to go out that way. I think he wants a little normalcy beforehand."

Emily shook her head. "No. After what he's done, he doesn't just get to walk away, start again. I won't support that. He has to suffer, to know he was wrong and _feel_ it."

Charles frowned. "I thought you believed in forgiveness, child? Your mother always told me you were the loveliest thing; lovelier than the angels, even. She said you understood, you loved."

Emily tossed her head, an ugly, disinterested expression on her face. "I've changed. They did things to me in that place. You don't stay the same, Dad. You change. See the light. I saw the light. I won't forgive that monster. Not me. Nope. I won't. I will not."

"He will look for you. And the longer you're apart, the messier things will get. He's not right, baby. He's mentally unstable. If you stay away, it's only going to get a whole lot worse. When he does find you, he could hurt you. Nobody wants to see that happen."

"I'm with you. You'll protect me, Daddy."

"I can't protect you from yourself, baby."

Emily frowned. "I'll be okay. Just keep him away from me."

"Honey, I don't like this idea. It's bad enough the way it is, the way we live. It's not living. It's hiding. We have enough trouble ourselves, without him looking for you. Because he will find you; he'll feel where you are, and he won't stop." Charles frowned unhappily. "Your mother and I, we're... partners. And every day I am away from her, I feel it. It's not how it should be. We were meant to be a team, but all we can do now is talk on the telephone. On a good day.

"And you. Our babies. Our children. I miss you. Missed you. But you have your life, and when I'm gone, you'll still be here. Living your life. I can't be selfish, can't keep you from the world, from your own life.

"I..." He laughed, tears misting up his eyes. "I still have your mom." He touched his chest, over his heart. "In my heart, I have all the love I'll ever need. I love your mom, I love you kids. I get by. Life, it keeps on." He frowned at her sadly. "Baby, you don't have to live like this. You have a chance for something else, something better."

"With a monster!" She shook her head, eyes fierce. "I will not be beholden to the devil, Dad! To evil! I won't be that person. No matter what he can give me – safety, a home, money. Any of it. A child. I won't! And I won't do that to a child."

She tossed her head. "He already has one child. What does he want another one for?" She laughed harshly, and Charles shook his head.

"No choice, baby girl. You're gonna go back. You're gonna do what your parents want; what's good for you. You're tough."

"I don't want to be tough any more!" she yelled.

"No choice." Charles turned to Jarod. "Let's go, son. The longer we stay, the worse we'll make it for her."

Jarod looked from his father to Emily, and back to his father again. Helpless, confused. Whose side was he supposed to take here? He knew what Emily should do, for her own good, but he'd also listened when she'd told him she didn't want to, when she'd said she was hurting. He took hold of Emily's hands. "Please, Emily! Please! We love you. _I_ love you. We will never stop loving you."

Emily shook her head. Her voice was small, thin. "No. Don't go."

"Have to, baby sister. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you, okay? Love you." He let go of her hands, stood up.

She shook her head. "Don't go, big brother."

"I'm sorry," Jarod whispered, and she watched her father and brother walk away from her.

For a long time, she didn't cry. She was holding up. And then she just burst into tears, burying her head in her arms. She cried, and cried.

* * *

She was sitting outside as the sun came up, staring at her shoes and the gravel underfoot, just outside the diner. It was cold but that didn't matter. She didn't care. She wasn't crying anymore. She was so over that. Jarod and Charles were gone, they'd left her here.

She didn't look up when he walked over, just stood there, looking at her. She was going to pretend she didn't know him, he didn't exist. Not for her. He rummaged in a pocket sleepily, passed something to her.

She looked up with a glare, hate strong in her eyes. He handed her the paper crane slowly, looked around the dull, near deserted parking lot. She shoved the crane in her pocket, stood up swiftly, crossed her arms. She glared at him harshly. "I'm cold. I wanna go home. I'm tired."

He offered her his jacket and she took it, just for spite. "Hey, darlin'."

"Go to Hell!" she growled.

"One day." He turned and walked back to the car, the gravel crunching as he went. Emily followed him, glaring.

Later, in the motel room, she took the crane out of her pocket and fixed it with a death stare. She hated Lyle, and she hated it. It was crappy. She scrunched it up in her hand, just held it like that for a long time. After a while, the heavy beating of her heart calmed and she felt a little more normal. She unfolded the crane and smoothed it on the bedside cabinet. Moving her hand away to try and refold it somehow, she noticed the words none too artfully written there. _I'm sorry. You are beautiful. You're not useless. I don't deserve you, but I can hope._

She scrunched up the paper and threw it away from her with force, turned around and lay back down, jamming her eyes closed.

Who'd taught that lunatic to write? She wanted to clobber them just then, but not as much as she wanted to clobber Lyle. She hated him.


	3. Chapter 3

They had returned home. The vegetation soothed Emily, made her feel new and green, safe in a verdant cocoon. She loved the greenery of their house and yard, the glass through which she liked to gaze, sneaking peeks at the stars at night, lonesome looking up their in the dark sky, so far apart. Alone, but not.

She liked this place, if she pretended it was hers, hers alone.

She sometimes listened to music, gazing at the gardens, the clean, bare walls. Sat alone in the bathroom, full of mirrors from top to toe. She had wanted mirrors, a lot of mirrors, mirrors by which to watch her scars, observe them from afar, and so she had gotten mirrors. The floor, too, all of it, mirror glass. The medicine lounge, behind a glass wall, with glass shelves full of books on plants, botany, and warm wicker chairs with colourful throw rugs, probably Indian or Bangladeshi or Tibetan.

She would sometimes curl up in her favourite wicker chair and close her eyes, the warmth of the heaters sending her off to sleep before she could reach for a single book, the sounds of the ocean or a distant forest wishing her sweet, calm dreams.

The house was really for her, her special palace, fairy princess palace, pretty, shiny cage, hold me tight, hold me long, make me forget you will always, always hold me this way.

She had a walk-in closet, shaggy green carpet and all. Some cute, sweet romance novels she'd never read; soft, colourful cushions with tassels or not, a group of ottomans and cute wooden chests, for all of her most precious treasures. Plush toy flowers, an old singing card she'd been given for her birthday.

No, she was not a girl, but she could be, if she wanted to be.

All of her comfort items, the cutesy drawings of cutesy animals tacked to the walls, landscapes, too. It was all for her.

She lay in the bathroom now, mirror floor cold, staring up at the ceiling and trying to hold back tears. She had hoped she would never return here again, would lay this old palace to rest finally, but here she was, wishing not to cry, listening to the vacuum cleaner humming far off, in her walk-in closet. She didn't do the vacuuming, housework; she was not a housewife, she was a damaged individual. She wrote poetry, possibly, or else she did nothing, dreamed of one day "recovering" from this awful spell she was suffering under. Dreamed because she didn't see it happening, slowly and day by day. She saw none of that.

She stood up. She needed something more, something new. She needed something or she would die.

* * *

Her husband was finished with the vacuuming when she arrived, stepped into the walk-in closet, threw her toy elephant at him. The elephant fell to the floor, lay unmoving on the green carpet. "Something to say," she said, to her bare feet. "Are you listening?"

"I'm listening," Lyle replied, picking up the elephant and placing it on top of one of the wooden chests.

"Bored, sad. We could play a game. Games are for fun, nobody gets scared when it's just a game."

"Scared? Are you scared?"

She looked up at him, annoyed, glared at his stupid mismatched eyes. "It's just a game. I'm not scared of some stupid game."

He frowned, tone gentle. "Why are we playing this game?"

"I scare you."

He laughed breathlessly. "No. Not in a bad way. That's me; all me. You surprise me, you don't scare me. You amaze me. It's a good thing, I promise. But all right, this game. So I won't scare myself. Tell me about it."

Her frown was upset. "It's just a game. I want someone else. A baby." She rolled her eyes. "I've thought about it, a lot, how you could be not scared, so I have to tell you now. If we weren't married, in our game, if we didn't care for each other at all, if it was some sordid affair, it wouldn't be scary. You could do that because you're a Pretender, and then you could... you could touch me and it wouldn't give you pain."

He nodded, frowning again. "Do I have a say in this, sunshine?"

"No."

He looked at her, searching her from head to toe. "I find this game to be extraordinarily creepy."

"I find you to be extraordinarily creepy," she told him.

He smiled. "Not, ah, someone you'd ever contemplate rushing into some sordid affair with?"

"I'm not scared. I want a baby. I want someone I _can_ love."

"Naturally. I understand."

"You can touch me, if it's part of the game. Don't have to ask, just have it. Take it. You want it, it's yours. But only in the game, only when we're playing."

"This is your game? Firmly?"

She gave him a glare, dark. "Always."

"Can I just say, then..." he laughed softly, "I am going to play this game with you. Because it's what you want. I'll play your game; let you make up the rules, lay down the law. Won't get cute if it's not your wish. I'll do all that because I love you. I don't know what that means, not really, but I love you. I don't think I love you, I know I do. You can hurt me, give me any sort of pain you can dream up, and I'll take it all and not complain. Your game, my darling. I am yours, always. But you can throw me away, any time you like. Any time. Just throw me away. You don't owe me anything."

She looked away, to a row of pretty dresses hanging nearby. She hadn't worn any of them except for when she tried them on the day she purchased them, late at night when she was the only buying customer left in the store. "I don't like to hurt people," she said, to her fashionable dresses.

"Still, sometimes, you have to. To let go of your own hurt, good and proper, you've got to hurt someone else, and then you let go, almost new again."

She reached out a hand, touched one of the dresses lightly. "You misunderstood me. You're not a person, you're a monster. I might like hurting you. I might like it very much. But even if I don't, I think I will. You gave me permission, it would be wasteful if I didn't."

"That makes sense."

She turned her gaze on him swiftly, eyes almost angry. She was still deciding, actually. "Not if you want me to."

"I trust you, darlin'. Maybe I do want you to, just to see what it's like. Maybe it's the Pretender in me, curious, questioning. Healing pain and hurting pain are different things, I think. I wouldn't be angry if you hurt me because I know... you're not like my father, not like the Centre. You're not trying to turn me into something bad, you want to help, even if you don't love me. You couldn't ever conceive of making someone... bad. Terrible. That's not what angels do."

She sniffed. "I hate you. I hate you for making me do this. You promised me the world, but you can't even give me yourself, your soul. Instead, you make us into children, make us hide behind so many silly games."

"I'm not the only one who's looking to hide here, honey."

She scowled, eyes flashing fiercely. "I told you already – I'm not afraid!"

"I think you are, deep down. You know what intimacy means to human beings, and you are a human being. You would help it, if you could, but you don't think you can. You don't trust yourself to remain cold, unfeeling, as some machine, some automaton. So you come to me with some pretty game, some pretty idea you think will placate me, so kind you've been, and I won't see you're just like me. Maybe a little scared."

She screamed at top of her lungs. Screamed and screamed. Screamed until her ears rung and she could feel herself shaking with the loudness of it, the effort of it.

"But you've nothing to be scared of, little sister. It's your game, remember. Your game."

"I'm not scared!" she growled. "I'm weak, but I'm not scared!"

"Well, all right then." He nodded. "Just human, a little fragile. Sometimes. Too brave to be frightened, to give in to nervousness, uncertainty. Why? The universe is a wonder to us all, a delicious, engaging, fantastic wonder. Nothing to be afraid of but yourself, everything else is just shit that happens, eh? I getcha, babes. Gotcha." He winked at her, sighed. "Yeah, jerk. I know."

She began unbuttoning her cardigan, discarded it with a little shrug, some tugging. "Now." She slipped off her furry cat slippers, tugged on the zipper of her scruffy, patched coloured jeans. She wasn't waiting any more. She didn't feel like embarrassing herself like that, and she would be, she knew that. "Come here."

He moved to where she stood, none of his earlier softness in his eyes. He didn't try to touch her face as if she was something precious and delicate. He made no comment on her clothes, on the awkwardness of them. They were not sexy, but heck, none of that was really relevant. He took a handful of her hair and pushed her back against the wall and kissed her. Not softly, not searchingly, but just because he felt like it. It was what she'd asked him to do. His hand on her hip, tugging her to him, squeezing her bottom, his breath on her neck, lips on her collarbone, it was only what she'd asked. He wasn't shaky or uncertain, but she knew he would have been. If she'd given him the chance he'd have cried, maybe made a face, or many, would have tormented them both with his many horrors, would try to be soft, so soft, when softness was the thing that hurt him the most, hurt them both the most, so she'd given him his way out.

She tugged at his clothes, ripping buttons loose on his expensive shirt; didn't care at all. Extricated his hand from her hair, glare in her eyes. And then ripping, then what she had come here for, and the wall so hard. Later, hands pressed to the carpet hard, floating above her head in amongst the green that clashed so horrifically with her hair, strewn not artfully about her face, tickling her back, the little hollow in her throat.

She screamed, fought, slapped. Was it not her game? So then she was in charge, her long, soft hair brushing his shoulders and face. She heard the ring of the telephone, and then no more. She reached to close the door and he caught her off guard, rolled her over so she was no longer on top. He closed the door for her, licked the end of her nose when she glared at him. Didn't even smile when she slapped him for being so disgusting. Disgusting, uncivilised, former farmer person, torrid hick brat. She was not impressed, but what else did he have for her?

* * *

The day it rained torrents, they took to the back-seat of the car and she left muddy footprints on the leather seat coverings, the door and glass. It was warm and stuffy in the car and the rain was loud in her ears, louder even than her heaving breaths, and she didn't mind that it sounded like bullets raining down. The sound numbed her some, deafened her ears, and later, watching the rain from the kitchen, she drew patterns on the floor with her bare feet, remembering how loud it had been in the car, how carelessly she had scratched, kicked.

She stood up from her chair, discarded her clothes to the floor and scooted them away, kicked them away with a foot, gazed down at her belly that looked no different from yesterday. She snapped the laptop lid closed and took her husband's reading glasses, tossed them away. They landed in the sink with a wet, soapy splash. She didn't object to her husband's frown, but grabbed his hair in her hands, kissed him roughly. She would have her dinner later. His work seemed boring to her, and the storm was worse. It made her nervous, edgy, like it meant to tell her something. All the things you want you can have, the softness and fluffy bits too, but everything breaks, everything ends. But this child, her child, would be strong, would not break.

The telephone was back again, to interrupt, but it was ignored. Soon, she was going to send it in after Lyle's stupid reading glasses. She had a feeling it would like the deluge half as much.

When he fell asleep beside her on the bed, she threw him out of bed, didn't care if the fall was hard. Sordid love affairs did not include such things.

He didn't say she was beautiful, if she made an effort to be; didn't call her "darling", and if she wanted to hit him, bite him, kick him, he never made an effort to stop her. He never kissed her tenderly or held her longer than he needed, but once, when he'd convinced himself she was sleeping, he went to fetch her toy elephant for her and pressed a small kiss to her head.

She got him back for it the next day, of course. Hung up when he was on the phone with his superior. "I guess he lost the connection. Stormy weather's no good for much of anything, seems."

* * *

On her next visit to the doctor, she found out she was pregnant and she took the bus home, walked the rest of the way. She was glad, she told herself. A baby was what she'd been wishing for. She'd only really picked up each and every discarded button and sewed them back onto her husband's shirt because a mother needed to know such things, needed to know how to mend clothes when they were only a little broken, and she meant to commandeer it, anyway. She didn't have any expensive white shirts.

She didn't eat ice-cream in the kitchen alone. She was no longer alone. She picked up the telephone, settled on the kitchen counter and dialled Miss Parker's home number. They were sisters now, properly.

* * *

She was still on the telephone with Parker when Lyle got home, looking tired, posture decidedly ill-mannered. He didn't ask who it was she was speaking with, but set about making coffee, humming some pop song that she knew instantly annoyed her to no end. When he opened his mouth to sing part of the chorus, she hung up and glowered in his direction. "You're traumatising our baby!" she growled, actually surprised that she'd been so generous with her wording. She'd actually said "our", not "my".

He grabbed a pen and scribbled down the lyrics in his unhappy handwriting.

Annoyed that he hadn't said anything yet, hadn't looked at her like he understood what she'd just said, she glared at him some more and snapped, "I went to the clinic today. The doctor said I'm pregnant."

He nodded. "That's fantastic, sunshine." He put the pen down, met her eyes with a frown. "I'm sorry, yeah, that's great. I'm sorry, my mind was elsewhere. I have this... song stuck in my head, that's all." He ran a hand down his face, sighed heavily. "You don't look happy. You're mad at me. I'm sorry."

"Your sister asked how we've been. I told her we've been good."

"Yeah? That... thank you. Have... have we? Been good?" He shook his head. "Of course. Of course we have." He shuddered, stepped back from her violently. "I'm sorry." Stepped further back. "I... I have to look something up online. You don't know the name of that song, do you?" He started to hum it again and she gave him a decidedly dirty look, scowling.

"No," she told him coldly.

"I... I'll come back." He left her standing in the kitchen, glaring after him, arms crossed.

* * *

They were a local band, nothing famous, called themselves The Nog. Bianca had gone to see them with one of her friends one night – her friend's idea – and fallen in love with the lead singer from the first moment she set eyes on him. He hadn't seen her at all... at first. His name was Duke, but that was only his stage name. His real name was Ronald. Bianca had been to a few of The Nog's gigs, and it was at the eighth gig that Ronald finally stood up and noticed her. She was smiling; she was the only one. He started to wonder why, and that was when he realised he'd seen her a couple times before, at some of their other shows.

Bianca and Ronald got to talking and the first time Ronald heard Bianca laugh he knew she wasn't just another girl. She was something special. She was studying in university, a real clever young lady. She liked plants something fierce. She was going to go away on a trip for school, so he'd seized the chance and taken her on their first date, to the botanical gardens. They'd walked for so long his feet had begun to hurt, but the life in Bianca's eyes had been so compelling, so enticing, that he just had to keep walking, one step in front of the other. As they'd been leaving, she'd reached for his hand. His heart had beat faster and he'd bought her an old book of pressed flowers to see her off on her trip. She'd been so excited, she could hardly keep still, but tears had come into her eyes when she'd laid eyes on that book. He'd been so proud of himself, and so happy he'd made her happy.

He told his younger sister about her on the telephone that night. They'd laughed together when he'd said he thought she was the one. He'd said that so many times before, but Bianca felt different. The week she was due to return, he couldn't sleep nights. He listened to country music in his pick-up, just to give his mind something different to process, but he couldn't get Bianca off him mind. When he listened to country music, they were dancing together across some polished wooden floor, scuffed from the years, and he was holding her in his arms. They were both smiling.

He arrived at the station early and sat back to wait for Bianca's bus, but when the bus came, Bianca wasn't on it.

He'd only found out later that Bianca's father was some prominent, rich guy. Biological father, anyway, 'cause he hadn't really cared about Bianca until she'd gone missing. He was a political type now, but he'd started off a country boy. Bianca's mum had been his high school sweetheart, but when he'd grown up and moved to the city he'd left behind his best girl and married one o' them posh things, started a posh little family. Bianca's mum had died a couple years earlier in a motor vehicle accident.

When he'd seen the picture of Bianca in the paper – the one where she was smiling, eyes bright and sincere – he'd left the table and taken up in the bathroom, cried like nothing else. Kelsey, his cousin who waitressed tables in the diner, had come in to see if he was okay after he'd been in there half an hour. He'd quickly wiped his eyes and told her, yeah, he was fine; he'd just needed someplace quiet to think. Got an idea for a new song.

Kelsey had left and he'd sat down in the corner, sat there silently, tried to recall the sound of Bianca's laugh, but he couldn't hear it anymore.

* * *

Lyle was talking on the phone when she came into the lounge room. He scruffed up his hair and nodded, patted his hair back down again. "Ericsson. E-R-I-C-double S-O-N. Local, local. He's local." He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "No. I'm not going." He laughed. "You're much prettier than me, Karoly, and the ladies like exotic accents. Well, yeah, but I don't answer to Sean. I don't- No, Karoly, right now Bianca is more important. Sean's not a child. He can make nice very well without us." He frowned, shaking his head. "Hang on. I'll call him. No, I will. Don't- I'm calling him. Stand by." He pressed a button on his cell phone, and punched in a new number. When the call picked up, he scowled. "What the Hell are saying to Karoly, Sean? I think you should just watch yourself. You have no authority to have him transferred, and I don't appreciate the threat, either. In case it had conveniently escaped your notice- No. No. I'm not some bloody public relations officer, pal! Karoly and I are Field operatives. We are not obligated to attend tacky parties for the sake of securing the company funding. We _are_ obligated to do our jobs, however. We do our jobs, the boss is happy, he tells whoever the Hell he tells about the good work the department's doing and that's what gets us funding. Get the Hell off Karoly's case! Oh yeah, sure! Sure! We've really got the time of day for that shit, Sean! Are you sick or something?" He shook his head. "Lay off Karoly's case, Sean. I... I have no interest in listening to your conspiracy theories..." He hung up and dropped his cell phone onto the sofa, shaking his head. "Jesus! Messed up."

Emily stepped further into the room, crossing her arms over her chest. "Who was that?" she asked.

"Work. Someone from work. Sean Donahue."

"I didn't know you still worked on Field."

"Yes, sometimes."

Emily inched closer, expression unhappy. "Why?"

"It's what I know how to do."

"I thought you wrote music."

"For a while. Now I'm doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Field."

She laughed harshly. "You're helping them break the law. You're helping them kidnap people and hold them against their will. H-hurt them."

"I can't talk about my work, Emily. You don't have the proper clearance to know the details."

"I heard you. You were talking about a boy. Ericsson. And a girl, Bianca."

"Yeah, no. You don't know those names, Emi. You never heard those names."

"I did."

He made a face. "Don't be difficult, all right. You're... you've the baby to think about now."

She scoffed sarcastically. "You asshole!"

Lyle looked away, picked up his phone again. Dialled a number. "Karoly. Yeah, I spoke with Sean. You shouldn't listen to him when he talks like that. He's talking crap. It's- He has no authority. He's just being a jerk. Um... Yes, yes, that's right. So, ah, we'll talk to the boy tomorrow. I'll get his... yeah. Enjoy your evening. Tah." He put his phone back down on the coffee table and stood up, meeting Emily's eyes. "I put the money on the table in this family, darlin'. I do. You do not get to criticise every single thing I go when it's for the good of both of us... the three of us. I won't hear another word of it. You wanna be pissed at me for that, go right ahead. I can't win with you, no matter what I do. I'm not an idiot. Not a complete idiot, anyhow." He laughed. "You and your... scowly face... You're obviously angry about more than just my work. You know what I do. You've known for a long time. What is it? The baby? You're pissed because I didn't... What do you want me to say? That I'm happy? I'm... I'm glad? Yeah, well, I am. I am glad. You..." He shook his head. "I'm happy for you, for... the both of us."

Emily shook her head, eyes filling with tears. "You resent our baby! You resent him because he's not _your_ son!"

"I... I feel no such thing, Emily. You're tired, you're letting your emotions run away with you. You should go to bed, rest. Try to sleep."

She glared at him.

"Do you want me to tell you I love you, because I've said it before and you weren't too happy when I did? I am not asking for another assignment because it doesn't sit comfortably with you. This job is the only reason your ass hasn't been hauled off already! The only reason, Emi."

"Fuck you!" she hissed, then she spun around and ran out of the room.

He sighed. "Mmm, yes, well, that's right, isn't it?" He put a hand to his head, rubbing his face tiredly. He really didn't know how to deal with Emily right now. Honestly, had no idea.

* * *

She wanted to go to the tacky party, she told him in the morning. She wanted to help the company get money for the "good" things they did, if indeed they did anything that wasn't sinister and evil from beginning to end. She had decided to forgive him, for their baby's sake. He could not control what the company did, could do nothing about it, in actuality. She _was_ annoyed, _had been_ angry, but she had listened to what he'd said and realised he was right. She went on for a bit, her voice something close to passionate on the topic. She hoped he'd say something, tell her it didn't matter, he didn't _care_, just didn't care, but he wasn't in the arguing or enlightening mood, it seemed. Just tired.

She smiled at him, touched his hair. "I'm sorry for mistreating your reading glasses," she told him. "They're really not that ugly. Will you come with me to the party?"

"I'll think about it," he replied, his voice just as tired as he looked.

She moved closer, put her arms around him. "You sound tired. Why don't you call in sick today? It'll be good for you."

"No."

She forced herself to remain polite, to sound sweet. "You work so hard, baby. It's not good for you. Come to the party with me?"

"I won't have time. You..." He met her eyes suddenly. "Why do you want to go? You can't stomach the Centre. Never mind your fancy speech. Why do you really want to go?"

She shrugged. "I want to help you."

He laughed.

Emily tried hard not be offended by his attitude, but he seemed to be laughing at himself as much as at her. Perhaps he was laughing at the whole crazy thing. She stared at him, unable to find words for a long, blank moment. "I'll wear something nice. Something you'll like. I'll smile. We'll make nice together."

He made a face, looked away from her. She wondered if he might cry, but he just took a couple of unhappy breaths.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He shook his head and sighed. "What do you want, Emily?"

"I want you to come to the party with me. I want us to be... a couple..." she finished lamely, hearing the girlishness rise in her voice. Now she just wanted to cry, and she _hated_ it!

He stood up and reached out his arms for her, waiting for her to step into his arms. She didn't move. "How have you been keeping?" he asked wearily. "Did you sleep well?"

"No. I couldn't sleep. I kept waking up, afraid someone was trying to break into our house. It's stupid, but fuck it! That's how I've been keeping." She shook her head, hand over her face. "You asked. You had to ask!"

"No. Don't be angry." He stepped closer, pulling her into his arms. "That's too bad."

She glared at the kitchen wall, wishing he'd just leave her alone. She hated to feel like this, safer in his arms, but she guessed it was a side effect of their Convergence and utterly unavoidable. She wasn't quite sure, but she thought there was only one other time she'd felt so safe, so sure that she would be okay, no matter what, and, annoyingly, it hadn't been with either of her parents. She'd started to remember things lately, things from before, from her Canadian boarding school days, the days of her first brush with Hell – brown eyes and tattoos kept coming up in her mind, and an awful, awful feeling, a horrific feeling she always tried to push down, to deny, because it made her want to be sick to her stomach – and of course, her punishment. She was sickly glad, when she remembered, too weakly to do much more than raise her heartbeat, the way she'd been left alone in the forest to fend for herself, injured badly, and then the dogs, and the ripping and growling. She was sure, if she'd been left there for a couple hours more, that they'd have eaten her alive. Or barely alive, because she knew she hadn't had long to go. Her punishment had been to die, horribly and horrifically, but then... the boy had found her. Or young man. He hadn't been a boy anymore, and she knew too, that he hadn't been any normal boy, either. He'd had claws and sharp, sharp teeth and when he'd growled at the dogs, his Reaper vibes in full bloom, they'd left in a damn hurry. She remembered that they'd been domesticated dogs, she'd seen a couple of their tags, one had even had a collar. From that point on, she'd always been hesitant around dogs. She'd tried to remember, too, for the longest time, what the young man had looked like, but she couldn't even remember if his eyes had been blue or brown, or perhaps they'd been both. But she knew, _he_ had made her feel safe.

It was the first time she'd even felt so safe, she thought now, even though he'd been unsure of how to touch her, of how to handle her after the dogs had gotten their teeth into her, and she'd been afraid he would cry, and how strange, to see a boy crying, and should she close her eyes, but the boy just sat down on the ground and collected her to him and everything seemed very, very sharp, almost unbearably painful, for one moment, and then it was just black. All black. Until she had woken later on, in some kind of room, and the pain was so, so bad, except for when the boy was there, because he seemed to have some magical ability to ease the pain for her, just by his being there.

When she'd gotten a little clearer in the mind, she'd wondered if he might not be a Healer, but Healers could not be Reapers also, as the great Paradox said, and so she'd decided he was not a Healer but he did something nice for her, something pleasant.

That's when Emily remembered, Oh, he had had blue eyes. The boy's eyes were blue, and it was the Reaper's eyes that were brown. And... and... his eyes reminded her of someone, someone she'd felt safe with too, her friend. Her friend who was... was... Was she dead? She'd seen... seen her, or perhaps she'd just imagined seeing her. No, no, she _had_ seen her. The Daughter of Nash was there, had been called in to Heal her – she was an important Possessor – but she hadn't needed any assistance from the Healer after all. The interrogation board had asked her about a lot of things: Who had given her the serum? Who had Healed her? How had she imagined she might escape them? Who did she think _she_ was? And then, they had decided on her punishment.

Brown eyes and tattoos, Emily thought. The Daughter of Nash had brown eyes, had tattoos on her face. That was the face from her nightmares, the face the people who'd taken her had burned into her mind. With a sudden sickening lurch of her stomach, she realised why. They had meant for her to kill Blake Nash-Tam!

Lyle was humming that same pop song from yesterday, gently rubbing her back as though he thought this a comforting gesture, but it made her think of Mel, of her best friend from so many years ago, and those were not comforting thoughts. She had killed Mel's baby. In trying to escape, she had killed her best friend and her baby, though her best friend hadn't stayed dead. Her baby had. Now her best friend was... different. Changed. And far from happy.

She hadn't even recognised her when they'd met again at Broots's wedding, and at the airport beforehand. She hadn't had a single inkling as to who she was staring at, probably thinking her a right mad woman.

Emily sniffed. "Would you stop rubbing my back," she said. "It makes me want to pee."

"Are you hungry? Would you like me to make you something to eat?"

She never made her own food. If Lyle was away, she ate something microwavable from the freezer, and if she came home late, she glared death at him until dinner was done and she could slink off to eat her food in peace, or sitting on the sofa watching an action flick. She liked when things exploded, and Matt Damon was pretty adorable, even when he was pulling some whacko, insane antic.

"Go and make me something to eat and stop petting me like an animal," she finally told him, trying not to snap or scowl. Even though she thought she'd made it fairly damn clear that she didn't like when he got all stupid over her, he was just too stupid to remember half the time, or else their Convergence really did screw with his head that badly and if that was the case, she thought, why was it so hard to get him to act sane? Why couldn't she just snap her fingers?

As she was eating her breakfast, glaring idly Lyle's way, an insanely creepy thought occurred to her. The boy from the forest, the one with the brown and then blue eyes, he did sort of... remind her of her crazy husband. Not exactly, but for all she knew, they might have been brothers. She started to stare, but looked down at her plate quickly when Lyle came over with a coffee for her and set it down on the table in front of her. There was no way in Hell it had been Lyle, it was just too spooky a thought, and if it had been, then had it been the Centre who'd sent her the serum to disable the biomechanical components in her system, and why did they deny knowing anything about it, why did they attribute it to this group they called Naomi, after the name of her mysterious pen pal? Were they just trying to have one over the Tams? And why had her mother showed up so soon after the boy had left so suddenly? Had her mom found out something, found a way to save her brothers, perhaps, but she'd given that idea up in exchange for her? For her daughter's life?

Emily stared harder at her plate, an overwhelming urge to murder Lyle with the fork in her hands washing over her, and that was when she remembered one other thing the people who'd taken her had wanted of her: they'd wanted her to kill Lyle, the Naomi scum.

She stabbed at her salad viciously and said nothing. He was a level five Sweeper, he could look after himself. When he wasn't busy being the world's biggest idiot, she thought sourly. If he was such a great Sweeper, then why was he so bad at catching her brother? She didn't want him to catch her brother, but she had to ask the question. This was the person who was supposed be looking out for her and their unborn baby; she had to know he wouldn't screw up and then they'd be dead. She shouldn't have had to resort to violence herself, especially when the creeps who'd had her had been trying to train her to kill folk. If she gave in to her violent urges, maybe she just would end up killing folk, and she wouldn't really be happy about it either.

She grabbed her coffee roughly and took a sip, staring at Lyle from across the table and the handful of pills he was holding. "What's that?" she asked, with a nod. "Is that new?" She hadn't seen that one before, had she? Why was he incessantly popping pills? It made her antsy all of a sudden. Were they really all to control his urge to shamelessly murder people, and why hadn't he been bloody trained to control his violent impulses? She'd met plenty of Reapers who'd been trained to harness their abilities in a safe, sane way, who didn't feel the need to rip something to shreds and hear it scream in pain every couple of minutes.

She pointed to the pill in question, leaning further into the table, "That one?", but he brushed aside her concerns and swallowed them anyway.

"Vitamins."

She rolled her eyes in sarcasm. "Where have I heard that before?" Yeah, like old Billy had been giving him "vitamins" as a boy. She didn't buy it for a second.

"Whatever." He pinched one of the chips off her plate and she gave him a dirty look.

"I'm a pregnant woman. Where's your shame?"

He took another chip. "I don't have any."

"I thought you weren't supposed to have fries, diabetic and all."

"Yeah, whatever." He stood up, grabbing another chip, and walked around the table, patting her on the head annoyingly. "Leave the dishes in the sink when you're done. I've gotta go to work."

"No, no, I'm gonna throw them on the floor and stomp up and down on them, okay?" she said, glaring at him when he laughed at her. She waved him away. "Go to work then! Fuck off."

"Oh, pardon your French!"

She chomped on a chip. "Really, fuck off."

He waved cutely and headed off.

Emily rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "Oh my God. What a creep." She stabbed her fork into a piece of cucumber and made a face. "Just call me Emily," she told the cucumber. "Not Mrs. Parker, not Mrs. Creep, Emily. Because, ah, I like you, and now I'm going to eat you – and that's not creepy at all."

What was creepy was that she was just then thinking of ways to kill her husband. The AH serum killed Reapers _and_ Healers. If she could get her hands on some of that stuff, she'd be set.

She decided to keep her hands off anything with serum printed on the label.

Maybe, if Parker or Jarod rang, she could tell them the funny bit about how her husband was Naomi scum and that was why he'd never actually managed to bring Jarod back in. It was displeasing to his mistress, Naomi, who may or may not have been Catherine Parker, because the very idea of Naomi smacked of Catherine Parker overtime.

She didn't think either Parker or Jarod would laugh, but she wasn't the funny one, that was supposed to be her husband, Lyle, as Broots had mentioned the night before his wedding. Her husband was the funny one.

Maybe that was why she wanted to smack him out so much. She wasn't the biggest fan of comedy or all things funny. That was Jarod, apparently.

She patted her stomach. "I promise, I'll try not to kill Daddy. I'll just hurt him a little bit."

* * *

Sitting on the deck out back, painting her toenails with glittery rainbow and silver nail polish, she paused in painting her nails and glared at nothing ahead of her, a dark light in her eyes. "It all makes sense now, Emily! He's not a Pretender, he's a bloody Empath! Tam savages!" She made a small sound of disgust in her throat and hugged her arms about herself. "One point: he's always so damn particular. 'No, no, I _can't_ wear that! What are you trying to do to me, woman!' Two points: he never quite knows how to shut his mouth. 'Why? I love the sound of my own voice! And I'm so... knowledgeable and hunky!' Ew-w-w! Three points: 'I'm an Empath, slash Reaper, but people mistake me for a Pretender because I'm just so damn classy, baby! Yeah!' " She dropped her shoulders, gritting her teeth in mental pain. "Emily, your husband is not a Tam baby!" She made a sound like she was going to be ill. "Oh God! Oh God! It touched me!" She clutched a hand to her throat, whining to herself. "I touched it!" She leaned over and picked up her bottle of nail polish again. "The shame is unbearable. I am so ashamed." She tossed her head, her expression suddenly calm, casual. "I think this means pain for hubs. Evil Tams!" She giggled creepily.

"Ew, Mel, your brother is secretly a Tam! Ew-w-w! How could you, crazy Tam person? How could you? Murdering innocents and pretending to be Centre scum? That's just disgusting! Now, how do I manipulate you into annihilating _every last one of them_?!"

She sniffed, waving her hand to wave the chemical smell of the nail polish away. "It's just the pregnancy hormones, Emily. He's not a Tam. Tams have... funny names and funny little accents." She laughed. "They love to colour code and the Reapers... have those sexhay clothes! _Rooney Tam, you make my heart beat faster!_" She cleared her throat. "Don't say that too loudly, Ems. Don't want to make hubs jealous. He could kill Rooney Frickin'-Hot Tam, and you know Mel likes the guy for her eye candy. That would just be mean."

She put the nail polish wand back in its bottle and sighed. "Better not be a secret Tam baby, you little skank! They told me you were Naomi and you're supposed to be Centre – you can't be all three! Despite your fetish for threesomes!"

She grinned. "Ooo! Karoly, baby! Okay, you're creeping yourself out now, Emily. Just... take a deep breath and relax." She sucked in a deep breath, held it for a couple of seconds, and breathed out slowly. "Somehow, it always seems much more relaxing when Sydney says it." She poked her tongue out and got to her feet, wiggling her toes on the hardwood decking.

She supposed, if she looked around a bit, she might find Sydney's phone number. It really wasn't her fault she was a sucker for the sound of Sydney's voice; it was Jarod's. With all of those DSAs, and him always watching them whenever he needed to hear a familiar voice. It wasn't like their dad was on any of those DSAs.

She tromped off inside, on a mission.

* * *

She hadn't been able to find Green's number.

Watching a DVD with a tub of frozen yoghurt in hand, Emily reached for the remote control and stopped to gaze at the small sun tattoo on the inside of her right wrist. Elisabeth Tam used tattoos, or more specifically the ink used to make the tattoo, to introduce biomechanical components into the bodies of their "subjects", which could then be used for identification or short range tracking purposes. The biomech components went into the bloodstream and attached to the sites where the body manufactured new blood therefore ensuring the continuation of its "life" via replication along with any new blood that was produced. The serum that Naomi had made was effective, but extremely painful, and Emily knew that if they had managed to make it out of the Tam training facility alive, Mel would have had to wait until the baby had been born to take the serum. They would have had to have holed up someplace and waited, hoping and praying that the Tams didn't find them in the mean time.

Before they'd let her go in the forest, before Mel's father had gotten wind of the "stupid accident" that had nearly killed his daughter and had already killed her friend and room-mate, before Tam had even known about the serum, Emily had given it to Mel, so she would be safe, and firmly out of their clutches. The baby was dead, anyway. She'd heard the Daughter of Nash say Mel had been pregnant, but she wasn't anymore. There was no hope for the child, it was lost. In that moment, Emily had realised what she had to do, had realised that if her friend was to be finally safe, that Tam could have no hold over her when her father came and took her away. For a while, Tam had had no idea, but then they'd clued on and they'd been mad as Hell. The stupid girl child had lost them the Daughter of Catherine Parker, a perfectly good Pretender with the Inner Sense that they'd spent years working on, years perfecting, not to mention countless dollars. They were pissed.

They said they'd given her the serum so that nobody would ever be able to find her body, or whatever remained of it, but Emily knew they'd really done it to get back at her for losing Melody Parker, for losing their great asset. They had wanted her to suffer, and she had.

Emily shook off her memories of the past and looked back to the television. "Five points," she whispered. Lyle had a tattoo too.

She tried not to read too much into the fact. So yes, maybe he was the boy from the forest, maybe he was Naomi scum, but she would not accept that he was a current or ex-Tam. If she ever found out that he was, she would have to kill him out of principle, for all the things Tam had done to her and Mel. She was Jarod's sister, justice was important to her, and it would only be justice if she killed him.

* * *

She was looking through the dresses in her walk-in closet when she heard a car pull up in the drive outside and decided it was Lyle, home from work. Heading off to the kitchen, she stopped in the doorway and leant against the door frame. "I left them in the sink," she said, a note of smugness lurking in her voice, until she noticed Lyle wasn't really listening and there was an odd look on his face, a look that usually meant pain was involved.

She walked over to where he was standing by the sink and frowned, examining his face where he'd somehow managed to collect a couple of scratches. They looked icky, and his pupils seemed to be different sizes, as though he was concussed. She wondered if he'd gotten into a tussle with the two kids, Ericsson and Bianca, or if it was something else.

He turned away from her to cough and she noticed the ugly red marks on the side of his neck. If she hadn't been convinced earlier that he was an Empath, she was now. Pretenders didn't get negative feedback, and Lyle might have been able to fool his co-workers with his Glamour, but he couldn't fool her: she was a Mediator. He was breathing strangely, as though it may be hard, and she felt like just laying into him.

He was such an idiot!

She didn't think she knew anyone else who even touched his level of idiocy, and he wasn't even a proper Centre psycho. He just masqueraded as one.

She made sure to shoot him an angry glare when he finally turned to meet her eyes once more. "Why'd you take that stupid pill?!" She knew it had something to do with that dumb pill. Any kind of pill with a love-heart on it like it was just so innocent and cute just smacked of evil, sinister crap!

He reached up to touch her face with a shaky hand. "Are you okay?"

"You idiot!"

"I'm an idiot. I agree. Just tell me: are you okay?"

"Aside from wanting to slap you into next year, yes, I'm fine." She pulled a face, looking up at him unhappily with a pout. "Look what you did to your pretty face. I don't like it now. It looks ugly. And your stupid eyes are even more unhinged than usual. I could have nightmares."

"I think..."

She grabbed his hand, holding onto it securely. "I think you need to lie down," she told him, really starting to get the heebie-jeebies. She'd heard that people could die of negative feedback but she had no idea how to tell if it was that severe or not, and she really didn't want to find out. If he died, her affiliation would be scrapped and she – and the baby – would be left as easy prey for those sickos at the Centre. She did not want that to happen. Besides that, she'd heard that people could go loopy when their Convergence partner died and she didn't think she needed any help there. She already felt loopy enough as it was.

She led him off down the hallway to his bedroom, deciding he should lie down on his bed and not on the couch as she'd occasionally seen him do when she'd come to watch something on TV in the middle of the night or got up to get a glass of water. She'd always wanted to tell him that the couch was for the guests to sleep on and he clearly wasn't a guest – she assumed he owned the house – but she'd always somehow chickened out when she imagined what his response might be, involving the fact that if they slept in the same room he might actually be more comfortable sleeping in a bed.

His bedroom was the only room in the house she hadn't been inside. She even sometimes had a look in the study, when she felt like she might be in the mood to write poetry, but she usually got distracted by the comfy chair and sat staring at the ceiling for long periods of time, thinking about things. Strangely, she'd never been curious about what he might be hiding in his bedroom. She figured, now, that she just hadn't wanted to find any creepy shit.

She opened the bedroom door and hustled them both inside the room and over to the bed. She patted the mattress and gave him a firm look, pleased about the fact that there was a bed (despite his habit of sleeping on the couch) and it even had normal stuff like bedding and pillows, even if the rest of the room was a complete mess of books, book shelves, papers and files, a couple filing cabinets and things tacked up to the wall. The rest of the room was a little bit spooky, but the bed looked completely, one hundred percent un-spooky. Which was not suspicious at all, she told herself, as she watched him lie down and sat down beside him, gazing around at the rest of the room, rubbing his shoulder in what she hoped was a comforting manner.

"You know why I don't want to sleep in here with you," she told him, for something to say, "it's because of all this spooky shit." She didn't like the way he was breathing even more than she didn't like his creepy room. She was asthmatic so she thought she'd know what was normal and what was sus, and the way he was going on was just plain suspicious.

She waited for him to say something back but he wasn't saying anything and the funny red marks on his neck had spread and now they looked less like welts and more like blisters. She had to remind herself that she couldn't catch whatever it was he had – at least she didn't think she could – but she still kind of wanted to hide her eyes, or maybe hit the door and go listen to some distracting pop music too loudly. She didn't want to sit around and wait for him to die, to take his last breath or whatever.

"It'll be all right," she told him, rubbing his arm. "You have nothing to be afraid of. The aliens are not taking over your body."

He coughed and she realised what she'd said, her eyes widening.

"Sorry, sorry. I feel kind of freaked out right now. I feel all... weird. You're not going to die, are you?" She stared at him, almost pleadingly, waiting for him to realise the meaning of her words and just say something, even if he had to lie.

"I'm fine," he finally managed to say, and she punched him in the arm, annoyed at the lie even though she'd been hoping to hear it too.

"That is why you will not be playing around with stupid pills that do you don't know what in future!"

"It's not-"

"Oh shut up! It so is." She eased up on the dirty look and patted his shoulder awkwardly when she realised she'd stopped rubbing his arm. "Your room sucks. Is it supposed to be this messy? Isn't that against your... whatever it is that's obscenely fucked up with you?" She looked away from him abruptly, annoyed at herself for her random lack of sensitivity. She thought it would probably be best if she just kept her mouth shut. She didn't think the pressure of the situation was doing her any good, under present circumstances.

When his unhealthy breathing started to intrude on her thoughts once more, she started to hum to first song that popped into her head, grabbing hold of his hand and closing her eyes. Yes, of course it would be okay. Negative feedback was normal for Empaths, even if it wasn't pretty or painless. It was completely normal. She just kept telling herself that.

* * *

She didn't even realise she'd fallen asleep until she woke up and quickly sat up, horrified that she'd flopped down on top of Lyle when she'd fallen asleep – he was still alive, wasn't he? She hadn't just been sleeping on top of a dead person? – and screamed and leapt off the bed in horror when she noticed the awful, ugly, disgusting negative feedback. Even with them having Convergence and the likelihood of their child inheriting her Mediator abilities as a stabilising factor if he or she did turn out to be an Empath (which was likely), she couldn't help freaking out a little at the thought of the baby and proceeded to scream some more.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she hollered irrationally. "How did you think I'd react? I'm seriously freaking out! Just don't look at me!" She turned away sharply and fled. She just had to get out of this room, away from... from... that!

She went to sit in the study, to try and collect her thoughts, but she only ended up sobbing. If she was like this now, how was she going to be later, when the pregnancy really started to kick in?

* * *

Sniffing, she finally uncurled herself from the chair and wiped at her cheeks roughly, though they were no longer wet. She felt crappy, and her limbs were all stiff and weird feeling. Moving along the hallway, she felt awkward, strange, as if she was walking through an alien world, or perhaps she wasn't even in her own body. If she was having some strange out-of-body experience or she'd been taken over by aliens, she didn't want to know, so she just kept walking until she came to Lyle's room and opened the door quietly.

She had to apologise. Or... or see how he was going. She was still his wife, and he was still her crappy husband. She wanted, also, to tell him that he hadn't done the dishes yet or started on dinner but that was okay because he could do the dishes in the morning and she wasn't really hungry. Though she probably should have eaten something for the sake of the baby, she just didn't feel like it.

He was asleep when she snuck in quietly and she did her best not to fall over anything or knock anything over with a loud noise that would wake him up. If he was sleeping, he couldn't be angry at her, or disappointed. Or sad.

She felt a little bit sad herself but she felt better when she lay down beside him and snuggled up to him as best she could. Even when he was asleep, she just felt better to be near him. She didn't think it was spooky anymore, it was just how it was. He'd rolled over in his sleep so now he was facing away from her but she didn't really care. It was better like this because she got to hug him and she never really did that so it was probably about time. He was always the one hugging her.

His breathing was still sort of weird but it was calmer and she rested her head on his back, listening to his heartbeat. If she closed her eyes and forgot about seeing the negative feedback making itself at home all over her husband, she could tell herself everything was fine because his heartbeat was perfectly normal, perfectly steady, and she was lying next to him in bed, just like other husbands and wives, normal husbands and wives. And he was warm. Maybe a touch too warm, but she was cold so it wasn't a big thing.

They would have times like this in future, she told herself. Many more times. Her husband was a world-class dummy, but he was still her husband and he didn't starve her or hit her or call her stupid or fat. Maybe he thought she was, or maybe he thought she was just stupid and not fat, but he never said so to her face (unless to piss her brother off, and it was just the one time, really). He never tried to take advantage of her in any creepy manner, though she wouldn't have been surprised if he ever did anything like that, and he did the cleaning up so she wouldn't have to worry about getting it wrong or doing boring, mundane things like that.

Listening to the steady beat of his heart, she wondered if she was a very good wife and decided that, actually, she probably wasn't. Or definitely wasn't.

She opened her eyes and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, where the negative feedback wasn't so bad. The negative feedback mightn't have looked very nice, but he still smelled nice. She had the urge to touch his hair, or sit up and kiss his ear, but it was so strange, so strange, so she refrained, wondering if this was it: was she finally breaking? Had the Tams been right? Was someone like her, someone who was born to resist at all costs, made to be broken? To her, back then, it had seemed such a deeply cruel thought, but she wasn't sure anymore. Did she, because of what she was, have some hard exterior that needed to be broken to really, truly be able to connect, to experience?

She sat up and went to do the washing up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warning for discussions of harm against children, children being killed, and guns.**

* * *

She woke in the morning with the sunlight warm on her face, having curled up on the couch in the living room and fallen asleep, feeling vaguely comforted by the fact that her husband liked to sleep on the couch too and that he had before, when he'd been okay.

She rubbed her stomach and went to switch on the television, hoping to catch the early news and the weather. On the news, there was a story about a young woman named Bianca Torres, the daughter of a prominent local politician, who'd been missing for a couple of months, and had been, before yesterday, presumed to be dead. A new lead on the case had indicated at a possible kidnapping and yesterday the authorities had found her alive. She was recovering in hospital after her ordeal.

Emily stared at the photograph of a smiling Bianca until it disappeared, her mind whirring. It wasn't until the weather report came on that Emily snapped out of her thoughts and tried to take notice once more of what was being said.

She switched the television off when the weather report had finished and sat thinking about the young woman, and the co-incidence that her name just happened to be Bianca that perhaps was not such a great co-incidence after all. Bianca was big news now. Surely the Centre wouldn't try to take her now, after all that. They had tried and failed – or someone else had beat them to it, or else Bianca had escaped somehow – and now, hopefully, Bianca could get her life back. Or at least part of it, Emily thought.

She felt suddenly indescribably sad for the poor young woman, and so very sad that her husband was more than likely one of the people who'd taken Bianca, who'd hurt her.

There hadn't been any mention of the boy on the news, so Emily just prayed he was all right, prayed he'd been able to evade the Centre's greedy, destroying clutches.

* * *

Emily was eating breakfast when she heard a car coming up the drive and stood up to investigate. By the time she'd made it to the front door, Lyle was already there, frowning at the man on the other side of the door in a manner that said, Go away. The man looked like a Fed, in Emily's opinion, but she tried not to think on it too hard in case it was true.

"Come on, Hooper. Just a few minutes. Five minutes. For Laura."

"Laura's not here," Lyle told him, unmoving.

The man removed his sunglasses, offering his hand. "It's Henry. Henry Kelly."

"We have nothing to talk about," Lyle said. "Please leave... Mr. Kelly."

"I think Ms. Torres would disagree," Henry replied. "I think she'd say we have a lot to talk about. We're not certain about a couple of things, and Laura said you could help. She trusts you, pal. Don't disappoint her, eh?"

Lyle laughed and turned away to cough, his hand shaking as he held it over his mouth. Lost in her thoughts, Emily wasn't quick enough to back away, around the corner, and he stared at her for a long moment, breathing hard.

Deciding that she was sprung anyway, she stepped away from the wall and nodded, heading towards the front door. "Let him in," she whispered. "The sooner he's in the door, the sooner he can leave again." Then she turned around and left.

In the kitchen, she looked around and tried to recall watching Lyle make coffee for her in the morning. She decided she was going to make coffee today. She didn't want the FBI man thinking she was strange, maybe not all there in the head, or that Lyle had kidnapped her and brainwashed her into thinking he wasn't really keeping her against her will, she was here because she loved him and they were married, they were man and wife.

"Good morning, ma'am," Henry greeted, a short while later as he joined her in the kitchen.

"Would you care for a drink?" she asked. "Coffee?"

"That would great, thanks," Henry told her. "White, one sugar."

She smiled at him and turned away to make the coffee. It had just occurred to her that she didn't know how Lyle took his coffee, or if he actually drank coffee, if his meds allowed it.

"We'll be, ah..."

Emily turned back around, smiling. "The lounge is right through there," she said, pointing. "Make yourself at home, Mr. Kelly."

"Yes. Yes. Of course. I will, thank you." Henry marched out of the kitchen awkwardly, and Emily tried to pretend she hadn't seen how bothered he was that she knew his name, or that she might have heard him call Lyle by a name he hadn't used since college. As she got the coffee ready, she just hoped he wasn't mixed up in this business with Bianca Torres, wasn't on the Centre's payroll.

* * *

"We, ah... We were involved in the search for the Torres girl for quite a while. Laura... Laura too. Bianca's father's, ah... He's a big guy, ya know. Laura was... She really felt for that girl, losing her mom like that and then the whole damn rest of it. She wanted Bianca to be all right. She really, desperately wanted... for it just to be okay with her. For it to turn out she'd just... I... I dunno, met a boy and fallen in love and then... they ran away together. But..." Henry shook his head.

"Laura should not have been involved with this case."

"Why... why do you say that?"

"The people who took Bianca don't like people like Laura and I. They did it to test us, to find out how best to combat us, and kill us."

"Wh-whoa there, Jan. That's quite an assumption to make, don't you think?"

"No, I don't think. I absolutely don't think, Agent Kelly. They... they've done it before. The day care centre in Maryland, all of those children! They... they think... we need to die, because we are impure. They murdered those children: 'Because they're disgusting. They're nothing but glorified animals, biding their time until their teeth are sharp enough to rip our throats out in our sleep... They're savages. And there is no cure for savagery. Just... death. Cleansing.' But we shouldn't be afraid, because they've heard we don't have a god, we don't have Hell, and they're just here to cleanse us, and give us a Heaven.

"They were so small. They were so small. They hadn't even come into their abilities yet. These people are sick, and I can't Read them! They are organised, and they won't stop. They believe they are fighting a war – we are a scourge and they are cleansing the Earth of us! They are doing God's work."

"But you can't Read them?" Henry said. "How do know all this... if... if you can't Read them? I mean, what... Why... why can't you... R-read them?"

"They told me. One of their people told me. A man. He told me he was proud to have been one of the ones to give those children salvation with the Lord before... before they sinned and were barred from Heaven, from His love."

"And where is this man now?" Henry asked levelly.

"Dead. I shot him." Lyle touched his forehead, his hands shaking.

"Okay. Nice. Thank you for that. You think, ah, you could maybe wait for the proper authorities to arrive before pulling that shit? Sure, he killed your kids, your brothers and sisters and all that crap – but you are not the law! That was not your decision to make!"

"Mmm. But I did. You wanna... arrest me for that, Agent Henry Kelly? Wh-where's your proof?"

Henry fumed back at him silently, and he was still fuming when Emily arrived with his coffee and set it down on the coffee table for him.

He adjusted his posture to a more professional bearing and reached for his coffee, refusing to be put off by Lyle's show of calm silence.

Emily had been out in the hallway with Henry's coffee when Henry had raised his voice and she had felt a shiver of dread and fear run through her, irrationally afraid that Lyle would snap at Henry's almost amused comment about the poor, murdered children and kill a man of the law, but Lyle seemed determined not to give Henry any further incentive to dig deeper. It made Emily more suspicious that Lyle was covering something up, that Bianca might have been the one to kill the man rather than Lyle. If he was indeed dead and the Centre hadn't taken him in for questioning in relations to the people he was working for and their agenda.

"They're not just collateral damage, Henry," Lyle said, talking with his hands as much as anything. It reminded Emily of Sydney, when he was trying to be calm and collected and not lose it with someone, but really trying to get through to them. "Normal people. They have rights. There are laws. Not just the law in a traditional sense, but our laws. We have laws. Our... our... there is a structure. If we don't abide by those laws, we are punished by our overseers. If a person makes a choice to join us and it ends badly for them, then that was their choice. And the law will look into that, and take care of it. But we don't go out of our way to extinguish people who aren't like us. We must co-exist, as all things... in the universe. We are all people: the same people, Henry. We are not different. Is a coloured person different from a Caucasian person? Or a man different from a woman? We are all human, Agent Kelly. Do you understand?

"I did not relish having to kill that man. But you know, he had a gun. He would have killed me if I hadn't killed him first. He would have killed Bianca, and he probably would have gone on killing people. I had no choice."

Henry narrowed his eyes in a calculating squint. "He had a gun?"

"A nine millimetre."

"And you also have... a gun?"

"For which I have a license, Agent Kelly. Yes, I have a gun. Come on, Henry, this is America. There's no crime in owning a gun."

The look on Henry's face was indignant, openly displeased. He thought Lyle was having a go at him for being a Fed, a government man.

"The guns aren't the problem, Henry. It's people's attitudes. Sure, guns make it physically easier for people to harm one another, and even kill each other, but they'll find other ways. They will. We need to change people's attitudes, not people's weapon of choice. For all we know, they could come up with something far worse than guns. Biological and chemical weapons. We don't want that, nobody wants that. So why don't we work on people's attitudes. I tend to think we have to believe it possible. It must be possible. The instant we stop believing it possible, that is the instant it becomes impossible. People exist together. They live together, in communities and societies. They relate to the world around them and everything in it, everyone in it, in certain ways. There has to be a way, Agent Kelly. I do believe that."

For one moment, Henry looked about to say something – something probably not very nice – but then he shook his head, as if shaking the thought off, and sighed. "A lot of people would like to believe that, and a lot do believe it, Mr. Parker, but I'm not so sure that we didn't jump the gun, as it were, in relations to... arming our nation. I think a lot of people just aren't ready for that sort of perceived power, that kind of power... in their hands. Literally, in their hands."

"Some people, yes. I can see where you're coming from on that point," Lyle agreed, "but I wouldn't say a lot of people, as such. I don't know the statistics of gun-related violence."

Emily scratched the back of her neck, taking a seat beside Lyle on the sofa, and glanced across at Henry. Were they really talking about this right now? She had the urge to throw them both out onto the porch, or maybe she should just leave and find something else to preoccupy her mind. Actually, she wanted Henry out of her house, she thought his presence made her husband strange, unlike himself. She disliked this new pretence of Lyle's. It wasn't like him at all. It made her think of the way he got when he was trying hard to pretend he was so damn normal, when he was silently scathing underneath, plotting a way to get back at everyone, or who he could murder and get away with it. She just didn't like it. She hoped Henry left soon.

She got up to go and make herself a coffee, and half an hour later she heard Lyle show Henry to the front door and Henry's car starting up and disappearing down the drive. She didn't go to stand at the door and watch him go in his shiny black car; she sat in the kitchen and sipped her coffee in silence, waiting for Lyle to come in and say something, to make a big fuss of her making a coffee for Kelly and not bothering to make him anything.

He didn't make any such fuss, but washed Henry's mug in the kitchen sink and set it down on the drying rack to dry. "Thank you, Emily."

She looked down at her coffee. "Do you really think people should be allowed to have guns if they want to have them?"

"No, not really. I don't know. It is a complex issue. I wanted to see what Henry had to say."

She rubbed her belly. She didn't think it would be a good idea for her to suggest that perhaps he hadn't killed that man, that perhaps Bianca actually had. "You shot someone? Dead?"

He sighed. "Again. I shouldn't make it a habit, should I? I'm sorry, but he was a bad person, and he would have hurt Bianca. Shot her dead."

Emily nodded, not looking at him but at her coffee. "Are you... okay?"

"Mmm. Yes. Yes, I'm okay. How are... how are you?"

"Drinking my coffee."

Lyle laughed. "Yeah, you are. I can see that."

Emily glanced at the fridge, but she really wanted to look at Lyle. She made herself resist the urge. "Who's Laura?"

"A woman I used to know. A Possessor."

"Oh, all right. Is she... a Pretender?"

"An Empath. She's a good person."

Emily nodded. She stood up, finally allowing herself to meet Lyle's gaze. "You're not a Pretender. The company don't even think you are one anymore."

"No. Not for... many years."

"Well, I did."

"I know. I'm sorry. It was awful of me."

She shrugged one shoulder, feeling strangely unlike herself, childlike. She looked at her shoes. She couldn't remember when she'd put shoes on, or where she'd gotten them from, but it must have been right before Lyle invited Henry in. She'd been making such an effort to appear okay.

"I... I'm sorry for yesterday," she said, plainly.

"You don't have to be sorry."

"I am. I feel like an idiot. A mean idiot. A horribly mean idiot." She refocussed her eyes on his face; he didn't look angry, or pressed, uncomfortable with her apology.

"Okay," he said. "Thank you."

She looked back to her shoes, slipped them off and felt her feet on the cool floor. She didn't know what to say now, what to do. "I never told you but... I think I could..." she looked up and met his eyes, looked into his eyes as if she might be able to see his soul, "love you, in a way..."

"I see." He bit his lip and looked away from her for a bit, at nothing really.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." He returned his gaze to hers. She thought he looked uncomfortable, but maybe it wasn't that. Maybe he was uncomfortable, but not because of her, because of what she'd said. Maybe he was uncomfortable because of him, because he wasn't sure what he felt, or thought, at that moment, wasn't sure about what she'd told him.

She felt ridiculously like turning and running away, but that would be the sort of thing a girl would do, so she stayed. She made herself stay.

"It's different... when someone tells you," he said finally. "You think about it and think about it... but then, when it's... when it's words... it feels different."

"You've told me plenty of times," she reminded him, not pushy at all, just to let him know he had, he'd put it into words.

"I did... I do feel like that. I do feel love for you, Emily. But... I'm not saying that your feelings aren't as real as my own, but I'm... I'm different to you. I'm not..."

"You are a lovable person," she told him plainly, not even standing straighter, just with her normal old posture. She didn't feel she had to get on his case about it because if she did then he'd just reject it even more. If she was gentle, he'd probably accept it easier, and she wouldn't hurt herself so much, embarrass herself so much.

"You see that in me because you're a wonderful person, because you... you... Not because of me, because I am a person worthy of you, or worth loving."

"You told Mr. Kelly that all people are equal. By that reasoning, each and every person is equally as entitled to love as anybody else. Each and every person."

"I don't... I don't know..."

"I'm not asking you to be anybody else but yourself," she told him.

"But I feel... like... I owe you that."

"You love me too. You said you did. What about what I owe you?"

He laughed, shook his head. "Doesn't work that way."

"I think it does. You love me, and you are nice to me. You show me love. So that's kind of like, you gave me that right. Every right comes with a responsibility. That's what they say. But you're not on my case about my lazy ass not pulling its weight, so I figure, I shouldn't get on your case. That'd be really hypocritical of me."

"Yeah. I see that."

She dropped her shoulders, her conviction draining along with her spirits. "Do you really hate yourself so much?"

"I don't hate myself, because... because I love you, and... and that would hurt you, it would make you seem to be... I think I do love you. Truthfully. That it's not just something I made up. Because it sounds all right or I'm lonely and it's hurtful to think I'll never be able to feel... love, or give someone else love because I... don't... get it. I... I'm confusing us both. I don't hate myself, but I know... myself. And if you love someone and they love you, that way, then it's... You want to get to know each other, to feel like that other person, the person you love, is as much a part of you... as you are yourself? In... in a way...

"I can't give you that, Emily. I can't."

"I don't want it. I'm not asking for it," she told him.

"But it isn't fair, then. Not proper. I... I should be able to... give you that. If you love me and I love you. Which, you do."

She sighed, huffing. "I just thought I'd tell you," she said, and bent down to pick up her shoes. "So anyway, I told you. I'll just... go to my room." She nodded, and turned away, towards the door.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Right. Sure."

"I am."

She shrugged, walking to the door. "I'm sorry too."

"I made you sad. I'm sorry."

"I'm not sad. You're sad. And stop saying you're sorry. It annoys me." She walked out into the hallway and headed for her bedroom. Right now she just wanted to lie on her bed and think about nothing, or listen to loud, boppy pop songs until they clouded up her thoughts and she could be in peace, or as close as she could be to peace right now.

She should have known he would be like this, but sometimes she was stupid too, and now she was angry, not hurt or upset, but angry. She didn't know why he couldn't just suck it up, the way she'd done when he'd told her he loved her. She had more reason to think he was playing her for a fool, but she'd still let him think what he wanted. She hadn't fought him at every opportunity. She wasn't such a big jerk that she had to be that mean.

She wandered off to her bedroom, feeling strangely out of it, but really, really angry too. She figured she was more angry at herself than she was at him. Deep down, she'd known he would do something like this, and deep down she'd probably been hoping for it, too. After all, she hadn't wanted to love him to begin with, but then it had just crept up on her the way some things did. She supposed now she didn't have to feel so damn bad about it all the time. It was a relief really.

She whipped around suddenly, racing back to the kitchen. When she got there, pausing in the doorway, out of breath, she said, very loudly, "You're afraid of loving someone who could love someone like you! The possibility that I could be crazy and that you'd love me all the same scares you so much you'd rather I got around as if I hated you unbearably! Do you know what I call that, Lyle, I call that sick! Sick and... and... cowardly! That's what you are: sick and cowardly."

He nodded, completely silent.

"You wanted me to say that, didn't you?! I'm right! You can't stand the thought that I mightn't be some... some saintly, fucking angel!"

"Not at all, Emily. I want you to have someone to love, and someone who can love you in return. I love you, of course I want you to be happy. I just don't think I'm the one to make you happy."

"You're my fucking husband!"

"I'm an Empath. When I say, 'I didn't lie you to, honey. Be reasonable', what I really mean is, I didn't tell you the truth, but I wasn't, to my mind, untruthful by omitting the bigger picture when it may have been displeasing to you in favour of a smaller picture that was much more pleasing to you. That's just unkind, and I don't want to do that to you, but I know I will. It's how I work, Emily. Not just because I'm an Empath, not just because of my messed up childhood. Because I can't... I can't face who _I_ am without wanting to be someone else entirely, so I'm not honestly going to feel comfortable shoving that person onto you. I am sick and I am a coward, okay. I am. But I don't want to hurt you or make you sick too just because I feel I have the right to be loved for who I am. I can't ask you to expose yourself to that.

"I can be your husband, but I can't be your soul mate. I can't be your best friend."

"If you believe it, you can make it real," she told him. "You told Henry that. You said you believed."

"I was talking about people and guns, Emily. I wasn't talking about me."

"I am. Now."

"Well... back off. You don't want to go there, even if you think you do. You're a... crazy person with a death wish she has... only half a right to have!"

"Half a right?" she scowled.

"Think about the baby."

She scoffed in mock amusement. "You gonna lie to our baby too? An innocent child?"

"If I have to," he said.

"And you think you have that right?"

"Oh yes. But, honey, if you disagree, it's all good, 'cause I am stronger than you, and I will keep on lying. I won't stop, not for anything."

"You'll call me a liar to our child's face whilst telling me that you still love me?" she challenged.

"Yeah. It's called psychological and emotional abuse. There are support groups for people affected by that sort of-"

She lifted up the shoe in her hand and threw it at him. It missed, though she didn't think she'd be such a lousy shot. She'd been good once, at that kind of thing.

"You can't help me, Emily."

"I hate you!"

He sighed, scruffing up the back of his hair. "I don't know what to say to that. Yeah, maybe it's true. Maybe you do hate me. But, you just told me you maybe love me. You could love me. So maybe you're confused about your feelings, or maybe you just love me and hate me at the same time." He laughed. "I gotta hand it to you, Emi, you really know how to make things complicated. Now, I'm good, but this might be a little outside my pay grade."

"Oh, go to Hell!"

"You know I would, if they'd have me."

She dropped her single shoe and stalked up to him, grabbing a handful of his clothes. "I can't think right now. Congratulations, you've really messed my head up good this time. You can quit patting yourself on the back now because this is _my_ game. I need you to get with it. Take me! Anywhere, I don't care, but take me."

The fear was actually there, bright and shining in his eyes, and Emily was glad to have put it there, and truthfully sad to see it go, when it did, replaced by no such emotion.

The sex wasn't bad though, and they hadn't done it in the kitchen yet, so that was a first. She was a little trippy on just how fucking bipolar her husband could get, and it was such a thrill to know that all she had to do was veritably click her fingers; she didn't even feel bad, or in any way naughty. In her eyes, he'd driven her to it, he was so nutty, and it was really not bad, actually sort of exhilarating, satisfying. Yeah, she had skills.

And it was such a relief to know that her skills gave back to her, that she was getting her money's worth. Well, she could phrase it that way in her mind, if she was in the right mood. Some people's skills got them nothing but bad, but she wasn't doing too badly.

She could've had it worse. She could've ended up dead, like all of the other darling and deeply honoured Mrs. Parkers: Yes, it was wonderful being married to such a charming, respectable man, until it ended tragically and I was the one going down with the sinking ship, all the way to the bottomest bottom.

She didn't intend to go down that path. She had legs and she knew how to dance – she even knew how to swim – so dance she would. She'd dance around all the pretty, shiny, dangerous bits and she'd do it with a smile. Why not? She wasn't doing too badly herself.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a sort of freedom in breaking, in coming undone at the seams and suddenly finding yourself empty, empty of all the old pains, sucked out like a poison. A truth, in it. A staggering, shattering truth that left the future free and the past... in the past.

Emily was sure, now, that Lyle had become something of a dangerous obbsession for her, that she did love him, in some strange, crazy way, and she wasn't going to settle for half, she wanted everything, she wanted her soul mate, even if it meant breaking him into a million little pieces and pulling out all of the pain and horror and hurt so there'd be room for her to squeeze in, for her love to take up a home. She was determined, now, to give him back his freedom, to wipe away all that crap from his past and let him decide, truthfully for himself, what kind of person he wanted to be.

It would hurt, hurt them both, and she would have to be utterly, entirely shameless, if she hoped to reach him, because it was how he saw himself, how he imagined himself, and anything less would only fall short, fall on deaf ears. She had to be on his wavelength, learn to speak his language. She was not a Pretender, and she wasn't crazy, but maybe she was leaning strongly in that direction, in the direction of crazy.

She just couldn't help but think it had to be him, her Convergence partner. The universe had chosen him for her, and her for him. She had meant to go a little crazy anyway, to do something so far out of her comfort zone, to take on some crazies and take them down. There was no reason she couldn't start with her husband, and perhaps even get something back in return, perhaps even achieve something real, for good.

She had to try, and not just for the baby's sake. She had a feeling it was there, right there just out of reach, but if she reached, if she just tried a little harder, she would be able to grasp hold of it and there, there, it could come back to Earth, to where it truly belonged.

It was going to hurt, and she regretted that, but a lot of things hurt. A lot of things. And Lyle had all but given her permission, had asked her to do this for him, though he hadn't known, at the time, what he'd been asking. She understood now: it was about purging the sickness.

And now she really just wanted to break him, over and over and over.

But it was all right, she assured herself. Even if she went off the deep end for a while, in the end, Kyle had come good. When it mattered, he'd been strong, and not a bit insane. Not truthfully. She understood that he'd done what he had to do, the only thing that could have been done, and strangely, she felt close to him, comforted, even though they'd never met in this life, had always just missed one another.

She felt not entirely alone in her mission.

* * *

Later, she helped Lyle to clean his blisters, to make sure they didn't become infected and make him too sick, and it reminded her of boarding school, when she'd helped Molly out when she'd pushed it a bit too far and had hurt herself, but was proud and would grit her teeth and grin through the pain. Even though Molly was rightly insane, she'd been a part of Mel, a crazy, tortured part, but Emily had loved her, all the same, even if Molly hadn't exactly been able to care for her back, if it just wasn't how she worked.

Melody and Molly has since integrated and become today's Miss Parker, more wary and stubborn than before, and a little bit feral, but even now, Emily could see she was trying. She hadn't given up, not even after she'd made the choice to integrate with Molly, when she'd refused to allow Molly to take her over completely, even if it meant letting go of part of herself. She had been brave and she'd come out the other end, though not unscathed, somehow still whole.

Though Mel's alter had been very purposefully induced, Emily thought that it probably wasn't so different to what had (or in fact hadn't) happened to Lyle. Empaths created successive personalities that were more able to screen the psychic streaming they received in safer ways, without the chance of forming as much and as bad negative feedback, but she didn't think that was what had really happened to Lyle, she didn't think he'd been a different person before, when he'd been Bobby. It was just what he wanted to believe, but it wasn't real. Maybe Bobby understood that they were not different people, but Lyle couldn't allow himself to believe it because if he did, it would mean all of the awful things that had happened to Bobby had happened to him too, so he lied to himself and convinced himself that he wasn't Bobby, not really.

She couldn't be glad of the fact that he wasn't smiling, savagely or otherwise, because those blisters looked awfully painful, and if it'd been her, she probably would have been crying already, but he wasn't, and it made her think how much harder her task was going to be than she'd first thought. She didn't like to hurt people, she hadn't been lying about that, but it looked like she really would have to inflict some serious pain.

She hoped she had the stomach for it, or else there was no point even trying. She had to see it through, or not even start.

She genuinely wanted to be gentle with him, to give up this childish game she'd begun, but she knew if she did that, she'd only be playing into all the lies he'd ever told himself over the years, she'd only be making it worse for him, and she either loved him too much or too little to do that, to be a part to his harmful lies any longer.

She was his wife, and he had chosen her to be so.


	6. Chapter 6

**Warning for creepiness and discussions of child abuse.**

* * *

The evening had been going well, up until then. Emily had even been enjoying herself. They'd danced, laughed at a couple of their own jokes (his jokes always seemed miles more funny that hers), and she'd met the famous Karoly and found him quite nice. And Lyle had been right, his accent was so very endearing, and he was a little bit cute too. If she hadn't already been married, well, there might have been a chance for them.

And then Sean had arrived and Karoly had scattered to the four winds. Emily could see why he didn't like Sean; she didn't much like him either, and she'd only just met him, she didn't have to work with him.

When the opportunity for alcohol arrived, Emily didn't think twice about it. She sort of wanted to throttle the life out of Sean and anything that could help calm her down she was game for. Besides the fact, it was champagne, not hard liquor. She didn't get far with the champagne, however, because Lyle took it off her and drank the rest of it for her. She would have scowled – it had tasted nice, too – but she was too busy remembering just how bad he was with champagne. She started to worry he might randomly punch Sean out, and she didn't want to ruin what had been a perfectly good evening up 'til Sean's appearance when the Sweepers came to unceremoniously throw Lyle and her out, which might have even just made it worse, if she was very unlucky, with Lyle being a Sweeper himself, he was likely to be a tad offended, and she just didn't trust Lyle when he was feeling particularly offended. And if her suspicions were correct and he was a Reaper, that would only make it a whole lot worse.

Reapers didn't do offence very well, as she remembered. They had their pride to consider, and that really upset her. She'd known a fair few Reapers in her time, but they had been highly trained. She had a feeling Lyle wasn't so highly trained, or else, he just didn't like to take orders from other people, people he considered beneath him, or hardly a match for him.

She was probably overreacting, but since she'd been remembering more of her punishment back in boarding school, she didn't much have the stomach for blood and gore and screaming. Suddenly, she felt clammy and weak, like she might collapse. She felt stupid for it, but she couldn't force the feeling away.

She grabbed Lyle's hand. "I think I need some fresh air."

He merely offered Sean a frown and walked outside with her.

"Why do you talk to him?" she asked, the sting of the evening cool burning against her face. "He has the most disagreeable disposition."

Lyle held her for a while, determined not to take offence at her angry words, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"You frightened me," she told him quietly. "You know you're not a friend of champagne. It makes you odd."

"I'm not odd right now, am I?"

"You're always odd," she said before she'd really thought about what she was saying, and the fact that she didn't want to offend him right now.

He laughed affectionately, apparently not offended, and she supposed she had been overreacting. He hadn't really had a lot of champagne, even if he was getting weird with her again. It probably wasn't even because of the champagne but more the fact that they were at a party together, and they'd danced, and people might still have been around who could see them together, expecting a happy couple, and keeping up appearances was important to him.

She hoped it wasn't the alcohol. If he started singing, she'd probably have to slap him, and that would be sure to offend him, especially in front of potential onlookers.

She didn't know why she was being so edgy, but maybe she didn't need a reason, being that it was a Centre party. Maybe that was the whole reason itself.

Lyle held her away from him so he could look into her face and her eyes. "I apologise for frightening you, and for always being so damned odd."

She knew he wasn't being serious because he was smiling. He was just being cute, but she didn't find him very cute. For some reason, he annoyed her. She really wished he hadn't hijacked her champagne. She felt bitchy and awful and if he hadn't taken her drink, she probably wouldn't be feeling so crappy right now.

"Oh, you apologise, do you?" she snapped. "Well, I don't think an apology's going to cut it this time, _honey_. I feel like a fool! You embarrassed me in front of everyone, and my nerves still haven't settled."

He picked up her hand and kissed her palm. "You poor thing. Today just isn't your day."

His half amused, half sad tone made her want to punch him, but she held her temper in check. She'd always been able to manage her emotions for the purpose, if not control them, but whatever they'd done to her in that place before Lyle had stumbled onto her seemed to have messed with her big time. She'd been feeling so violent lately, it wasn't like her at all.

She was suddenly aware that her breathing was heavier and she had the urge to leap at her husband and hurt him, or kill him. She would have been frightened, if she'd had the time for it. Instead, she channelled her aggression into a different frustration and pushed him back against the wall roughly, her hands trembling as she took his face in her hands and kissed him urgently.

It wasn't long before they were back at their hotel room and she gladly extricated her hand from his and directed him to the bed, shoving him back onto the mattress roughly. She wasn't in the mood for him to touch her, she still felt too much like pounding him, so she decided they wouldn't do that, they'd do something different.

She'd never gone down on anyone before, but popular conception told her that guys liked it and she really couldn't be stuffed looking at Lyle's face because his stupid mismatched eyes made her want to give him untold amounts of pain. He was supposed to have had them seen to already, or just damn fixed them, put them back to normal, but he hadn't even made a single effort as far as she was aware. It made her so damn angry.

When he realised what she had in mind, he got a bit panicky and sat up in a hurry, pushing her away from him, but she wasn't about to let him deter her – she didn't think he'd like being dead all that much – so she got tough and got on top of him for a while until he'd stopped struggling. He thought he could escape, get away from her somehow, but if he so much as turned his back on her she'd be after him and there would be killing, if she had any say in it.

He was being a baby, and he'd broken her rules. It was her game, not his. She made sure to remind him of that, along with the fact that she would have to punish him now, because he didn't get to make up his own rules when it was _her_ game. She glared at him for a long moment, a predatory glint in her eye, and swiftly raised a hand and hit him across the face. Why was he still thinking of disobeying her?!

She thought he might have started to cry then but she ignored him, disgusted with how pathetic he was getting over such a tiny thing, and growled, "Shut up and put up! I don't see why this is such a big problem for you! I'm sure it wouldn't be for Karoly. Stop snivelling and act like you fucking enjoy it, even if you don't! I haven't even touched you, you fucking crybaby! Do you want me to hit you again?"

After that, he stopped trying to fight her and let her do what she wanted to do, trying not to sob so much but doing so anyway. After a while, she got bored and decided it was no fun if the other person didn't enjoy it, and she clearly wasn't going to be able to talk him into playing along with her this time, even if it was for his own good.

She had a little tantrum and smashed a couple of things – the loudness of it didn't really impress on her – and then, tired of that, she noticed him again and planted herself in his lap, scowling. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt and glared at him. This was all his fault! He was the Empath. Wasn't he supposed to help people when they were feeling freaky, not let them run amok? Why was he being so mean and refusing to help her?

Letting go of his shirt slowly, she leaned up close to him and hissed, "Fuck me!"

He could do that at least.

* * *

Waking much later, she sat up slowly, pulling the sheet closer to her out of a mixture of uncertainty and fear. The hotel room looked like it had been hit by a tornado, but she knew it hadn't been. With a sickening lurch in her stomach, she remembered that she'd done that, she'd made all this mess.

She clutched the sheet closer to her chest, trembling all over, and forced herself to look around the room, properly this time.

She didn't see Lyle anywhere, and for a moment all she could think was that she wanted to cry, she was going to cry, but then that thought left her and she felt tears sliding down her cheeks.

It seemed so sad to her that she was sitting here, in bed all alone, crying silently, so she climbed out of bed, taking the sheet with her, and tried not to kill herself in the process of making it to the bathroom, or stand on any broken glass.

The light was already on when she opened the door to the bathroom and she noticed Lyle standing there, just looking at her. She supposed she'd hit him a bit harder than she remembered. He had some bruises that hurt her to think she'd made them, with her own two hands and everything. She'd always thought of herself as small, as diminutive in comparison to Lyle, but she'd still hurt him and he'd let her. He'd let her do that.

She wanted to throw up, but he was still looking at her, and she was just looking at him back, and then he said, "Hello."

She didn't know why he'd said it, or how to reply, so she just said, "Hello." Lamely.

"I was waiting for you to come back. I missed you," he told her, and she had to fight really hard not to look at him like he was mad.

She couldn't help wondering if he was.

He tilted his head, his movements a little disjointed, and stepped a little closer. And then a bit closer again.

She wanted to say, "Yes, it's me. Well, who else is it going to be? Silly." She didn't say that. She remembered how horrible she'd been.

She reached for his hand, just wanting him to take her hand and hold it, or let her hold his hand. She'd once been a journalist and her mind often still ran away to think about other things without her, but she rejected the thought that he'd done this to her, that he'd figured out her ingenious plan for him and had decided to scare her off her game. She almost wanted to hit herself for having such thoughts. Instead, she waited.

He took her hand in his easily and stopped a little way away from her. "I know it was your game, and I'm sorry for ruining it for you," he said. "You're right, I was being a baby. I love you. I love you so much, but I can't even do that for you! I don't know why I ruined your game. I'm an idiot. I'm such an idiot!"

She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. It was obvious to her now that she'd been expecting far too much of him. He'd blocked out his painful experiences and relegated them as "Bobby's" for a reason, and she had no right interfering with that reason when she couldn't even help him pick up the pieces afterward, when she had her own insane crap to deal with. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know it was because of Bobby. I'm so sorry."

He let go of her hand and drew her into his arms, holding her close to him. "It's okay, Emily. I'm okay. Don't be mad at yourself. You didn't know. It's my fault. I should have said."

She sniffed, taking a deep, unsteady breath. She put her arms around him and held onto him, just wanting to hold him for a while, to be near him awhile.

"I think I should tell you."

They sat down on the bathroom floor and Emily held onto his hands. She suddenly wasn't so sure she wanted to hear, but she knew she owed it to him too.

"My father – I've told you about him before – Lyle, he wasn't very well. Mentally, I guess they would say nowadays. But he did love my mother, and she loved him. When... when I came to be a part of their family, I think they were both very happy and they loved me, because that's why they wanted me to be part of their family. They wanted a child to love. So then I was... their child, and they were my parents. My own mother and father." He smiled. "I was very happy. They wanted to keep me, even though I was strange. They were so nice. But later, my mother loved me so much and she spent so much time with me, trying to help me, that Daddy thought she didn't love him as much as she used to, but she loved me better.

"He tried to be understanding. I was her baby, now. But, he still missed my mother. That was when he decided that even though he'd only let Mummy have me because he'd seen how happy she was to have a child of her own, he would love me too. Like Mummy did, like I was his very own child.

"After that, he started to see all of the things that Mummy saw that made her love me so much, and I was happy because I knew they were going to keep me. They wouldn't send me away and hurt me like that.

"But my father still missed my mother and he really loved her, so he didn't want to upset her, so... so he didn't think he should ask her to do anything she didn't want to do, anything that would make her unhappy. He was sad, but he didn't want Mummy to know because then she'd be sad too and that would be really, really bad. He didn't want to make Mummy sad.

"I didn't want Daddy to be sad either. He was my dad, and he hadn't sent me away again. I liked my new parents. I really wanted them to be happy. I tried really hard to be better for them, to do all of the things they wanted me to be able to do, just like all of the other children who were normal. I know they were very proud of me and they loved me very much. Sometimes, I think Daddy even forgot about how sad he was because he was so proud of me. I could even hug them, all by myself, so they would know how happy I was they were my parents.

"I was getting better. I was going to be just like the other kids, and then, soon, I would go to school. Daddy was very happy, especially when I would smile at him or give him a hug all by myself, because I was happy too. My mother and father didn't really hug anymore, and, well, Mum mostly smiled at me and not Dad. So Dad felt special when I remembered he was important too, like I guess he thought a real dad would feel, and I was around when Mummy wasn't, so he didn't feel lonely or left out of the family...

"I'm sorry, I'm taking a long time to tell the story." He smiled again. "My parents did love either, and they loved me too, like I was their own child, and they made sure I never went without food or clothes or any of that stuff. They just got sad and lonely and confused. And I... I didn't help. I liked to give people hugs too much. My parents, I mean. My father. I made him smile the way my mother didn't anymore, because she was saving all her smiles up for me. But then I guess he started to think about Mum again and how he missed her and how not even a child could take her place, not even if I'd been his own child, which I wasn't, and he got sad again, and he didn't like me so much. He got annoyed when I tried to make him happy because he didn't care about me and I already had Mummy to care about me so why was I bothering him at all. I was a little baby and I was so silly and selfish, but Mummy thought I was the best thing ever, on the whole entire Earth.

"He started to feel bad that he'd ever liked me, or that I'd made him smile. Only Mummy was allowed to do that now. I don't think he even wanted me around anymore, but he was going to keep me for Mummy's sake, because he loved her so much. But he wasn't going to love me again. I'd tricked him once, I wasn't going to trick him again. Mummy was his, not mine; I was just borrowing her for a while because _he_ let me, even though I didn't do anything for him in return. I still made Mummy happy, so I could stay.

"I guess he just missed Mummy so much, and he couldn't understand why she liked me more than him when I didn't even do anything the way I was supposed to, the way normal children did, so he... he decided to find a way that he could think of to justify me staying when I started to make Mummy unhappy because he knew she couldn't just stop loving me, even if I was wrong."

He smiled at Emily. "Anyway, this was later. We were... I was... older. And he used to... he used to get angry. I didn't want... I didn't want him to go back up there and hurt my mother, because he already had, and if he went back there... he wouldn't like what he'd done after. I didn't want Mummy to die and I didn't want Daddy to... to make her die. They kept me. Even though I was crappy, they kept me. I loved them, and everyday, I hoped they would realise they didn't have to fight anymore or hurt each other anymore because they loved each other and they had all along.

"But Dad was in a bad mood and Mum kept doing things wrong to make him mad on purpose, so he was going to... to teach her a lesson. I didn't want to, but I knew I could make him stop thinking of Mummy for a while, so I decided, I owed them that. Even if that wasn't the exact way I loved Daddy, and I always made him angry just by being alive and crappy and looking at him and making him look at me, I loved him enough not to want him to kill the woman he loved. So I just... went over to him and did it! I couldn't think about it a lot because I kept having to tell myself it was okay, I was doing it to save my mum. But afterwards, I knew it was different and I felt so bad, because I'd never, never done anything but look at him before, and just be myself, as wrong as I was. But that time, I was the one!"

He stared at her pleadingly, hoping for her to understand. "I was!"

Emily felt sick to her stomach, and though she was trying not to think that way, she had a feeling she knew what he was saying. "Your father sexually abused you?"

He looked away from her, down at the floor, at her hands holding onto his. He tugged them out of hers awkwardly. "Y-yes... I guess that's what they call it. But... I was always with the hugging! It was wrong. I shouldn't have encouraged him. And then I was too much... I was always there... like a reminder. And I... I didn't go away. I thought I was a part of their family, like I could just choose myself now because they'd already chosen me and let me stay. And I was always saying things and being there and... and... I didn't want to be so much like this. I wanted to be ugly because that's what people thought of, when they looked at me, and if I'd been ugly I would have felt... like a real person, a real person who wasn't trying to trick anyone or tempt anyone or lie to them! But I wasn't. I was pretty, and... and I had to... I had to feel... love for how I had been made, because everybody should be able to feel comfortable with their body, just how it is, and I didn't want to be angry at it. It wasn't even its fault, it was because of me and how I was!"

Emily shook her head. "Your father was sick! Truly, utterly sick! You have to see that. No matter how much you loved him because he let you stay. He punished you for it every single day. He wouldn't even let you be yourself. He was so sick – and he should never, even have hurt you like that! Okay? He was wrong. Not you. Him." She picked up his hands, holding onto them tightly. "I kinda feel like murdering the sick bastard, but I won't. I promise. I won't."

"You don't know what I did," he whispered. "You don't know this, but I really did steal Mummy away from him. She... she was angry at Daddy because he... he chose me instead, he always did, so she started to think, 'Why?' You know? 'Why?' And when she kissed me, she wasn't as sad. And she was... she was different from Daddy, she didn't hurt me or use me when I didn't really want her to and she loved me, she hadn't wanted to send me away. But I think, mostly, I was happy because she was a woman, and that was wonderful. So I didn't stop her, even though I knew the one she really loved was Daddy. I kissed her back. That was wrong."

"Raines didn't put the moves on you, did he?" she asked, because she was so sick from hearing about his sick, fucked up family and how he loved them because they'd kept him that she had to say something, had to set her mind to someone other than his parents. And Raines was always banging on about how Miss Parker and Lyle were his kids, in reality, so if he'd done so much as touched her husband the wrong way, she would find him and kill him where he stood.

Lyle giggled. "No."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure," Lyle told her happily.

She didn't know what he was happy about, but it was more than likely he was just happy that he'd told her something that had been upsetting him for a while and had been, at least in his eyes, a strain on their relationship, and their friendship.

She felt freaky and yuck, so she just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Well... my father didn't abuse me, sexually or otherwise. He loves me, but he didn't... he loves me as his child and as a person. And I love him the same way. As my father and a person, I mean."

Lyle giggled again and stood up, taking his hands with him. He didn't say where he was going or what he meant to do when he got there, but Emily knew he was going to see if he could fix the complete mess she'd made of their hotel suite, or at least clean up a bit.

It was only after he'd left that she understood why she'd gotten so mad, why she'd lost it so badly. Sean Donahue had been working with the people who'd taken her, had been feeding them leads about people the Centre were looking to acquire. She'd heard his voice before, and she remembered that stupid smile of his when he'd been taken to see her. He'd said, "Well, isn't she a pretty one! I can see she thinks she's pretty special, but mess her up some and see what happens. I bet she won't be so full of herself then! All you can do is try." And then he'd laughed, turning away and leaving the room, leaving her all alone.

She stood up shakily, collecting the sheet to her more tightly, and walked back to the bedroom to find her clothes. She was cold, and she sort of felt like a rapist for all the times she'd expected Lyle to perform because she wanted it.

As much as she wanted to help him, to rip the mere thought of Lyle and Elsie Bowman right out of him, she knew she wasn't that brave, and she never wanted to be that cruel again.

She touched her stomach. "I'm sorry, baby," she whispered.


	7. Chapter 7

In the morning, they went down stairs and had breakfast in the hotel restaurant before driving home. Emily gaze out the window, the soft morning light cool on her cheeks, and watched the scenery pass by, thinking it strange how everything seemed so light and watery, or maybe it was only because she felt the way that she saw everything that way, like it was made of water and would just drift away, float away, run away to some other place. She'd lived here for two years, but as they drove up towards the house, she looked at everything as though it was new to her, an alien landscape.

Lyle walked around the car and opened the door for her so she could get out, and she was happy to be home, happy to breathe the cool, familiar air, to feel it brush against her skin. She touched his arm to show her appreciation for him opening the door for her – she was honestly tired, and feeling rather uncoordinated – but frowned when he flinched.

"What's wrong?" she asked, unable to help it.

"I didn't know if you'd want to touch me anymore after what I told you... last night."

"I do," she said. "I still want to touch you very much. I think you're a wonderful person inside. I just find it so very hard to believe that you can't see that."

He touched her hair gently. "I think you're tired. You're a little..." He smiled at her, falling short, and she smiled back.

Yes, she knew all about the awful things he'd done, even if she didn't know all the details; she knew that he would never be able to think of himself as wonderful the way she did. She was a silly girl, a funny, silly girl who was in love.

She couldn't be held as the most reliable witness, or judge of character.

He closed the car door and turned back to her, scooping her up in his arms. She smiled and let her head rest against his chest, closing her eyes, then she let him carry her inside and off to bed.

* * *

She woke at four in the afternoon and walked to the kitchen for something to eat. Lyle was in the lounge room typing on his laptop but when he heard Emily go into the kitchen he left it and got up to join her in the kitchen.

He took a plate out of the refrigerator and set it down on the table for her with a knife and fork, then went to get her a glass of water. When he sat down across the table from her, still not saying anything, she frowned and caught his gaze. "What?"

"I love you."

She grinned and he stood up, walking around the table and dropping a kiss on the top of her head. She looked down at her plate and grabbed her fork, tucking into her late lunch. She was suddenly rather hungry.

* * *

She reached for her glass of water and took a sip, placing her glass back down on the table when she heard a knock on the door. If it was Henry again, she was going to go right up to him and throw her glass of water on him.

She stood up to investigate, leaving her glass at the table as she headed for the door. Lyle had already gone to get the door and she was just stepping out of the kitchen when it occurred to her that she hadn't heard a car out front, and then she heard a little noise like a gunshot muffled by a silencer and she felt her heart stop.

She raced toward the front door and threw herself at Sean, somehow managing to knock the gun out of his hands before he could shoot her too, and then, after that, everything happened so fast that she couldn't really recall much more than the fact that they'd fought and then, suddenly, Sean was lying on the floor unconscious.

She didn't spare him a single second glance as she fell down on the floor beside Lyle and pulled him into her arms as best she could, not even caring about the blood that was getting on her clothes. She didn't try to fool herself that it would all be okay. She'd seen dead people before and she knew he was very much dead, but she just wanted to hold him for a little while. She would let him go when he was no longer warm.

Holding him close to her, she whispered, "I love you too."

* * *

_Eight months later_

The nurse laid the baby girl in Emily's arms and stood back to watch them both. The nurse thought Emily might have had tears in her eyes then as a lot of the mothers did, but her eyes were completely dry.

"Do you have a name in mind?" the nurse asked, and Emily finally smiled at the baby.

She didn't look back to the nurse, but only gazed into baby girl's wide, mismatched eyes as she whispered, "Elly."


End file.
